Too Close to Home
by Tima
Summary: A killer terrorizes Toronto. When it becomes clear his final target is Andy, can Sam stop him before it's too late? And what's the killer's connection to Andy? Rated M for a reason.
1. Prologue: Procrastinator

I do not own any parts of Rookie Blue, though I do have a slight obsession with the show since season two ended a few months ago. Also, I am Canadian, born in Toronto, but not raised there (lived in Mississauga all my life). I know my way around Toronto well enough, but I must thank Google Maps for its help with my directions :)

They are actually filming in a warehouse a block down the street from my work, so I pass there everyday, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ben or Missy! But, alas, no such luck...maybe some day? A girl can dream, right?

I hope you enjoy this story. This idea has been trapped in my head for a while now, and seeing the hundreds of fantastically written stories devoted to RB has increased my desire to write for RB.

Rated M for a very good reason.

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><p><strong>[PROLOGUE]<strong>

It was a clear, bright autumn afternoon in downtown Toronto. The once new leaves were falling from the trees, slipping beneath his feet as he walked toward his destination. They crunched quietly, pleasantly as he walked in the vast green field across from Convocation Hall on the University of Toronto campus. The brown leather jacket that hung off his lean shoulders provided him with almost too much shelter from the early fall breeze that he loved this time of year, but he could not remove it; it would leave him too exposed, vulnerable. Besides, it helped him to blend in with the rest of the students that were congregating across the field, heading to their various classes and seminars scattered across the campus. Those young members of academia had no idea that he did not belong there, that he had no good reason for going where he was going. And why would they? After all, the young adults were too preoccupied with their own completely inconsequential lives to pay any attention to the stocky, 30-something man stalking inconspicuously across the field where countless U of T students took their final walk as undergraduate students before they graduated. He noted with mild interest the way that some students appeared to be flustered as they hurried on their way, their book bags far too heavy for the health of their spine. No doubt those students were late for their next class or concerned with their latest test score. He laughed briefly to himself as he thought, _it's times like these I'm glad I dropped out._

School had never been for him. Besides the heavy texts and countless hours of pointless reading in his opinion, he had always been a loner, wanting to keep to himself, so a place where hundreds of people gathered every other day and shared a seemingly common interest with him certainly wasn't his type of place. He was never one to make friends at all. There were those who had tried in the past to befriend him, but he simply shrugged them off, telling himself that they were only approaching him out of some misplaced sense of pity. There was nothing to be pitiful of, since he was exactly who he wanted to be, and that included who he associated with. More to the point, if he _had _let someone into his dark, twisted world, they were libel to leave him, just like _she _had.

He walked for a few minutes, passing Convocation Hall and turned south onto Kings College Road. After a few more minutes, he had arrived at his destination. He shifted the black messenger bag over his shoulder, yet another successful attempt at camouflage, and took a seat on a bench that faced Galbraith Road, towards the Sandford Fleming Building. There, he would wait. He would look studious as he pretended to dive into some required reading for a class he pretended he had. He would cross his leg and rest his right ankle on his left knee, and appear deeply intrigued by the book in his hands. Every so often, he would glance up, waiting for his target to leave the building, as she did every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 4:15. He'd been adhering to this routine for three weeks now, since he saw her working as a barista at the Starbucks on College Street. She hadn't even noticed him as he sat there, sipping his non-obnoxious regular coffee, staring at her, admiring the way her hair pulled up into a pony tail to expose her neck to everyone, just like _hers _had. This girl obviously wasn't very aware of her surroundings, despite being in the heart of such a metropolis where crimes were a common occurrence. She definitely hadn't been born and raised in Toronto, that was for sure. Before he had left the coffee shop to begin researching his new kill, he had glanced at her again and chuckled to himself ever so quietly, thinking, _t__his is going to be the easiest one yet._

His efforts were rewarded exactly seventeen minutes after he had taken his usual seat when the brown haired beauty he had been waiting for pushed through the entrance doors and slung her laptop bag over her shoulder. He made it his mission to look disinterested in her while still watching her every move. She pulled her jean jacket closed, hiding her crisp white dress shirt from the world, and stepped to her right—towards her tiny apartment off of Spadina. He was slow to react and follow her, knowing full well where she was headed. There was no need to rush since he had been to her building twice before, had watched as she stepped through the front door through her window, had even ventured inside the 500 square foot abode once the week before when he knew she was at work. There were no security measures in place there. Once at her front door, the lock had been easy enough to pick, and he had been careful enough not to leave anything behind or disturb anything that could be traced back to him. It had helped him avoid capture and detection thus far, and he wasn't about to deviate from that plan now.

He began carefully putting his book back into his bag and rose from his seat slowly, stretching briefly before setting off behind her.

From the five hundred metres behind her that he allowed himself, he could see her adjusting her hair and retying the high pony tail, making her straight brown hair look that much more appealing to him. He couldn't help the visions he was getting of pulling on that pony tail while he took pleasure in her body moments before he snuffed out her life, of his blade slicing across her throat like it was butter, of that same blade cutting through that pony tail to take with him as a souvenir after he cleaned up and left her body in the same position as the others.

Hours later, after the sun had set, Christianne sat on her little sofa, hunched over her laptop as she wrote an essay for her humanities class that was due the next day. _Always leaving these things to the last minute, what a dumbass I am,_ she thought as her fingers struck the keys expertly. After finishing her thought and realizing her bladder was commanding her to take a trip to the bathroom, she placed the laptop on the coffee table before her and went to relieve herself, shutting the door out of habit. The light switch brought the bathroom fan to life as well, rattling it noisily at first.

She didn't hear the rustling at the window as it slid open and let him in.

She certainly didn't hear the footsteps that followed.

She didn't see him standing behind the wall that divided the living room from the kitchen, ready to strike with a knife in his hand.

Didn't see him, that is, until it was too late.

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><p>AN: more to come soon! Please review? It's the only way I'll know if I should continue...


	2. Chapter 1: Alone

_I do not own any parts of Rookie Blue, though I do have a slight obsession with the show since season two ended a few months ago. _

_Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! I'm very proud of the prologue, and hope you enjoy this first chapter just as much. McSwarek fans, this will be a bit bittersweet for you...don't worry, I ship for them! :)_

_Remember, this is a work of fiction; I am neither a police officer, nor a stripper, nor a stalker. I am basing my knowledge of these lines of work on television and movies, since they are hardly ever wrong! (scoff)_

**_Rated M for a very good reason. If you are not of age, please get your RB fix elsewhere. ;-)_**

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><p><strong>[CHAPTER 1]<strong>

"The D's say it was pretty gruesome. Poor girl was beaten and," Andy McNally paused, hating the use of the next word that had to follow, "raped, and her throat was slit." She glanced out the passenger side window at the passing cars as she and her partner drove toward 15 division.

Her partner, Sam Swarek, shuddered slightly at her words. No matter how many years he had been on the job, nothing ever helped his nerves when he heard about cases where women had been violated; it reminded him of how powerless he had felt when his sister had been assaulted all those years ago. Nothing ever helped him forget that. The only thing that even remotely allowed him to deal with that _word _was getting creeps off the street before they could hurt anyone else, and even those times weren't as frequent as he would have liked.

He shook his head and stared straight ahead at the road before him. "Isn't that the third this month?"

His partner sighed. "Nope, fourth. You're forgetting the one found in the alley behind the Timmy's on Bloor."

"Oh, right," he lamented. "Not that I could ever forget that sight."

Andy sighed again sadly. "Me neither."

"They're thinking it's the same guy in all these cases, right?"

"Mmmhmm. The MO has been the same in each; beaten unconscious, raped, killed. The weird thing is that the guy takes a souvenir from each girl."

"Oh?" Sam was curious, looking at McNally for a safe amount of time before turning his attentions to the road again.

"Yeah. Each girl's hair had been cut. Like he had tied their hair into pony tails before cutting. And they had all had mid-shoulder length brown hair."

"Like yours." It was a statement, not a question, but Andy answered anyway.

"Yeah, I guess," Andy said, pausing. "It's all I could get out of Jerry. They're having a difficult time finding any hard evidence, though. No prints, no semen, no witnesses who could even attest to seeing someone out of the ordinary."

"Shit. Guess we're going to have to wait until the perp slips up," he muttered as he made a left onto Davenport. He hated the feeling of helplessness, but without any leads or evidence pointing to a particular suspect, he knew that the best they could hope for was that the next victim would either escape, or that the creep would leave some sign of who he was behind.

The police cruiser pulled into the lot at 15 division, and the officers left, walking in tandem toward the station. Sam felt the strange need to fill the silence, so he turned to his partner and said, "So, any plans for your days off?" as he pulled open the door and allowed her to enter before him. She threw him a grimace – since he was so guarded about his private life, he never asked her about hers – but she answered honestly anyway.

"Uh, well, I have to find an apartment."

He certainly hadn't been expecting that. "What? What happened to the house you and Luke just moved into?" he asked as they continued through the station, heading towards the locker rooms. Andy hesitated; did she _really _want to tell Sam how things had gone with Luke; how she had practically thrown her ill-gotten engagement ring, the one she had found among his personal items, back at him? How she had packed a duffle bag with her essentials and hightailed it over to Traci's right after, begging her not to breathe a word of the incident to anyone?

For Andy, all signs pointed to _yes._ This was Sam after all. Despite the feelings she had been denying she harboured for him, she knew that above all else, they were partners, and he always had her back, regardless of the situation.

Maybe her answer would help her gauge the feelings, if any, that he felt for her, too.

Besides, he'd find out eventually; it probably would be best if he found out from her instead of the station gossip mill.

"Luke and I broke up."

She continued walking, but she distinctly heard Sam's heavy footfalls halt suddenly after the words left her lips. Confused, she turned to face him.

She watched his face for any sign of distress or sadness, but found absolutely none. Instead, there was confusion.

"Oh?"

Andy's eyebrows rose slightly, as if challenging him to say more. He said nothing.

"Yeah. I didn't really enjoy playing second fiddle to his job…that, and he cheated on me."

The look of surprise on Sam's face wasn't lost on Andy, though it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. He schooled his features and looked appropriately apologetic. "Wow, I'm sorry, McNally. I, uh…I'm sorry to hear that." He stepped closer to Andy and put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder before asking, "You ok?"

She nodded and gave him a small smile, appreciative of his uncharacteristic sympathy. The truth was that she was _almost _ok enough that the thought of the betrayal didn't sting her eyes with unshed tears anymore. It wasn't that she missed Luke or what the two of them had once shared; it was the betrayal that still hurt. Had he ever _really _loved her at all? She thought better than to tell all of that to Sam. Instead, she slapped on a brave face and said, "Yeah, I will be once I have a place to live. Hopefully I find something in the next few days. Staying with Traci is great and all, but I'm sure I'll get in the way soon."

"Sammy!" Oliver Shaw called out to Sam. Sam's hand instantly dropped from Andy's shoulder at the call. He turned to say hi to his colleague and friend, and turned back to Andy briefly to wish her luck with the apartment hunt before catching up with Oliver. Andy waved goodbye and stepped into the ladies' locker room to wash off the grime and sweat of the day and wait for Traci's return from patrol.

Little did Andy know that inside, Sam Swarek, resident tough guy of 15 Division, was internally doing a jig at the news his partner had just shared with him. In fact, as he conversed with Shaw, he was fighting the smirk that threatened to appear on his face to replace the constant scowl that normally sat there. His mood had drastically improved from the beginning of his shift, and he had Andy's news to thank for it. He was furious at that prick for cheating on Andy as he had, contemplating a hundred different ways to put Luke in the hospital for what he'd done to her, but he was also sad for her, too. She was ruled by her emotions, a trait that had gotten Andy into more trouble than Sam liked to remember, and there was no way that this had not affected Andy, despite her strong exterior and brave words to the contrary moments before. Sam knew she would need some time to adjust to her new life without the pretty boy in it, but he knew deep inside that, if given a bit of time, she'd come to realize as he did; that this was the best for her. And for him.

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><p>Luke Callahan stepped through the front door of his house that evening and instantly felt alone. Though he had been working late hours and had barely spent any time with his ex-fiancée in the weeks leading up to their break-up, when he arrived home, he knew she had been there and that she would be there again. Now, though, the lack of Andy McNally's presence in the house was all around him, practically suffocating him. She had never put her personal touches on the home they shared so briefly, but he could still smell her faintly in the hallways, could almost see where she'd leave her runners haphazardly by the front door. The biggest sign that she was gone was that their walk-in closet was now only half-full. Luke had a wide assortment of dress shirts, ties, pants, and complete suits, but the rest of the closet had been well-stocked by Andy. Now, it looked desolate, incomplete. Just like he was, without her.<p>

He knew sleeping with Jo had been a colossal mistake when it was happening, but with that initial kiss, he was reminded of old times, good times with Jo, and couldn't stop himself. He now knew that if he had the chance to do it over, he would have rebuked any and all offers Jo had for him. He had a good thing with Andy – a great thing – and now, thanks to a night of nostalgic sex, she was gone.

He knew that night in the motel with Jo was a mistake, and had told Jo as much the last time they had been in the same room. He had been blunt with her, telling her that he wanted Andy back, even though he knew that his confession hurt Jo terribly – she had the unmistakable look of hope at the rekindling of their previous passion in her eyes, and with his confession, he had extinguished it ruthlessly.

He dragged himself to the sofa and loosened his dark blue tie as he sat, grabbing the remote control with his other hand. The television came to life, brightening the completely dark living room. He flipped through the channels aimlessly, passing CityTV, CTV, the Buffalo NBC, ABC, and CBS affiliates, PBS, Sportsnet, and then the Weather Channel, where he finally stopped, though he wasn't watching at all. His mind was elsewhere. It was on Andy.

Cheating was the main reason for her departure from his life, but the truth, he finally admitted to himself, was that he had never really put her first, and that the infidelity had been the last straw for her. He realized then that their relationship had been just another accomplishment for him; he had the great career, the fancy car, the beautiful house, and the gorgeous, brown-eyed rookie in his bed. His life was almost set; he was successful in every aspect of it. But he had been especially successful in love. Andy was kind and thoughtful and sexy beyond words. Though he had never come out and said it to her, he knew that he loved her. He hadn't even planned to propose to her, especially not that way or at that time, but her finding that ring had been incredibly serendipitous. The more he thought about it – and he had had plenty of time to think about it while he was in the hospital after being shot – the more he realized that he had actually _wanted _to marry her. It might have been far too soon for them to even consider, but as he lay in bed at home after being released from the hospital, he began envisioning how Andy would look in a flowing white dress, being walked down the aisle by Tommy McNally toward him. He knew then as he knew now, that he wanted it all; the beautiful wife, the adorable kids, the white, piling snow in the front yard (instead of the white, picket fence – after all, they were in Toronto). All of it. And he wanted it with Andy.

He would set his list of priorities straight and make sure she was on the top of that list. Work would be second to her, as it should have been when they were building their foundation together. He knew he had been a fool for not seeing the idiocy of his ways before cheating, and would make amends any way he could.

At that moment, as he stared into the television with clouded eyes, seeing nothing before him, he knew that he _had _to get her back.

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><p>Two weeks after the body of Christianne Lefleur of Laval, Quebec, was discovered in her small apartment violated, with her throat slashed and her hair hacked off, Traci Nash, Chris Diaz, Dov Epstein, Gail Peck, and Andy McNally, the not-so-new rookies of 15 division sat at their usual table at the Penny, each with a drink in hand, talking about their day. Chris and Dov had helped to run a speed trap on Lakeshore, Gail had been assigned to ride with Shaw all day, and Traci had had desk duty for thankfully the first and hopefully last time that week.<p>

The door to the bar opened and in walked Sam Swarek and Oliver Shaw. Andy had somehow known it was him – she was developing some sort of sixth sense when it came to her partner – and her eyes followed Sam until he made eye contact with her. Playing it cool, she raised her bottle of Corona to him slightly in greeting, earning her a small smile as he found his usual spot at the bar and sat down beside his friend. After they ordered their drinks, a scotch on the rocks for Oliver and a bottle of Alexander Keith's for Sam, Oliver turned to Sam and laughed. Confused, Sam's eyebrows crinkled together.

"What?"

"You and McNally, that's what."

"What d'you mean, me and McNally?"

Oliver patted his friend on the back before taking a sip from the drink that had been placed before him. "I mean, I haven't seen you this relaxed since…well, I never have. And I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that she and detective boy broke up." Before Sam could even open his mouth to refute it, Oliver held up his hand. "Don't deny it, brother. You're hooked."

Sam took a swig of his beer before answering, his eyes attempting to be hard, but failing since he knew that Oliver was absolutely correct. "I am not. She's…"

After a moment to let Sam get his answer together, Oliver laughed. "Wow, a man of few words. I get it. But trust me. It's all over your face."

"Fine!" Sam acknowledged with a slap of his open palm on the bar top. "But she's not ready for anything right now."

"How do you know that? You ask her?" Oliver asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"No, but when she was talking about that fucker and her ending things, there was something there that told me she still needed to work through some things. She was sad. I just knew it."

Oliver turned the bar stool he was sitting on towards the rookies sitting together at their regular table. Sam followed him, bringing his beer with him.

"Does _that _look like someone who's sad to be single?" Oliver said, motioning with his head to the table filled with laughing nearly-rookies.

"It's only been two weeks, though."

"Two weeks is enough time, at least judging by the way she keeps looking at you. It's obvious she digs you, too."

Sam chugged the rest of his beer down and contemplated Oliver's statement. _Did she_ feel for him the way he felt for her? Could he really express his interest in her without receiving a McNally slap? He had tried to be as supportive as he possibly could stomach when it came to her and Callahan, but it was torture for him to see her with him when _he _was the one who wanted to be with her. He just wanted her to be happy, so he said the right things about detective boy to her, but inside, he was hoping she'd finally realize that he was all kinds of wrong for her. As he thought this through, he realized that she was looking up at him from their table, smiling at him shyly. He returned the smile and proceeded to ask the bartender behind him for another Keith's.

"Think about it, brother," Oliver patted Sam's back once again, then pulled his wallet from his back pocket and put a twenty dollar bill on the bartop. "Zoe is expecting me soon, so I'd better get outta here. See you tomorrow, Sam."

Feeling bolder than normal – most likely due to the three shots of tequila Traci had insisted upon them taking – Andy rose from her seat and walked to the bar, planting herself beside the object of her desire; Sam.

He felt her sitting beside him instantly, and turned to face her.

"Hey."

"Hey, Sam. Havin' a good time?"

Sam smirked at the question. "Just got better. What are you rookies yapping about over there?"

Andy giggled and called to the bartender, glancing back at Sam. "Dov had to pull over an elderly woman who was driving dangerously close to the fifty over mark. She started crying and apparently Dov had a soft spot for old ladies and tears, and let her off with a warning."

"Wow, generous of him. Probably should have booked her for street racing.*"

"Yeah, we were just busting his chops for it." The bartender returned from serving another patron and took Andy's order; another shot of tequila. When he returned with the shot and rested it in front of her, along with a slice of lemon and a salt shaker, Sam had to comment.

"What's with the shots, McNally?"

She ignored him before licking her wrist, shaking salt on it, taking the shot, licking the salt, and biting the slice of lemon before her. Her face contorted in a disgusting way before settling to normal. She gazed at Sam and said, "Liquid courage."

Before Sam could ask what that meant to her, and why she needed courage in that form tonight, she scooted the stool she was sitting on closer to him and smiled shyly again. "Sam, I'm never the bold one. I go for what's safe and easy. Tonight, I want to say 'screw that', and do what I want."

His eyebrows rose in question. What could she possibly want? He just had to hear the words from her, though, considering their proximity, he knew exactly what she was going to say. Her eyes met his and his anticipation rose when he recognized desire there. As she opened her mouth to tell him that what she really wanted was him, she felt a finger poking her lightly on the shoulder. Andy and Sam turned to see who had caused the disturbance and saw that it had been Luke.

"Sorry to disturb you. Andy, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked, his face full of contrition.

Andy looked at him incredulously, like she was amazed that he had the nerve to interrupt their conversation. But she sighed and said, "Yeah, sure." She turned back to Sam, giving him a small smile. "I'll be right back."

He nodded silently, trying not to grimace at his frustration, and watched as Luke and Andy walked away from him and took seats at an empty booth to have a talk that Sam wished, even in his buzzed state, that he could hear with perfect clarity.

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><p>Stalking had become far too easy for him, but the fun part was what came after the hunt, when he was alone with her. He had watched her from a safe distance for about a week now, memorizing her schedule. She was a dancer at Zanzibar on Yonge, working the most coveted shift they had; ten to four am, when the tips practically fell out of the patron's wallets. The men there seemed to have loved watching her 5'5" petite but perfectly proportioned frame as it moved up and down in the most seductive and provocative manner, shedding her costume of the evening. Tonight, she had been a school teacher. <em>How ironic, <em>he had thought as he watched her fling her glassless rims from her face and begin to peel her pencil skirt from her sumptuous hips. _She _had been a teacher, too.

What little he remembered of _that woman_ instilling in him any wisdom or knowledge had been replaced with the memory of her walking out on him. He had only been six at the time, but he remembered the way the sound of the door slamming behind her seemed to fill the small house instantly. Or the way the suitcase she had had in her hand at the time appeared; dark brown, worn, with a sleeve of a white shirt hanging carelessly out of the side. The main thing he remembered, though, was the way the back of her head looked, not the front. He had blocked out any remorseful look she had given him; he was sure there had been none. After all, what kind of woman would walk out on her own child as his had? Certainly not a good one.

The back of her head, though, had been permanently engraved in his mind – the deep auburn hair, swept up into a high pony tail, the way the strands of hair swished back and forth as she walked through the doorway.

It was amazing how many women resembled _her_, at least in his mind. He knew brown hair was a dominant gene, but the high cheekbones and the big doe eyes weren't. These women called to him. Their siren songs were powerful magnets, drawing him to them. No wonder it had been so easy to locate his next victim so soon after he had killed the student. It was the only explanation he had.

It usually took him a few weeks to find a new woman, but not with the stripper. He had needed a night away from his tiny apartment to plan, so he walked down to Dundas Square at 11:30pm. The bright lights of the billboards above the foot traffic below beckoned to him as they shone harshly at him. Though the signs were far too flashy for his subdued tastes, this was one of his favourite places to think; it was a popular spot in the downtown core and he knew his anonymity would be safe while he waded in the vast pool of random people walking. He was in no danger of being talked to, except maybe at that time of night by a sleazy looking guy soliciting free admission to a strip club. He had been in such a mood as he passed this portly man that he actually stopped and checked out the club. It was only a few minutes after he got settled into his seat, with a non-descript alcoholic beverage in hand so as not to stick out, before he saw her; they called her Tammy Sparks, and he instantly grew hard as he watched her step onto the stage in her costume, her hair up in a pony tail.

Tonight, as she walked out onto the stage somewhat timidly, playing her role as an innocent school teacher beautifully, he began counting down the moments until her shift would be over and he would have his chance to strike.

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><p>AN: *FYI, here in Ontario, a law was recently passed where anyone going 50km/hr over the speed limit is considered 'street racing'. A whole slew of bad things happen if you are caught: you face road-side car impounding, you lose your car and your license for seven days, and you get fined $10,000. It's a law I don't necessarily agree with myself, since it doesn't actually affect street racers (the majority of those caught in the first few months of the law being passed were moms in mini-vans - who knew a mini van could go that fast? haha), but then again, they shouldn't have been driving that fast to begin with...


	3. Chapter 2: Watching

_I do not own any parts of Rookie Blue, though I do have a slight obsession with the show since season two ended a few months ago. _

_As always, thank you all for your reviews! I'm going to try to respond to them all in a few days...If I don't please know that every review makes me want to write faster!_

_Remember, this is a work of fiction; I am neither a police officer, nor am I a stalker. I am basing my knowledge of these lines of work on television and movies, since they constantly bring us loads of entertainment and education we would otherwise never have known..._

**_Rated M for a very good reason, especially this chapter. There is a bit of sexual content in this chapter, which makes me happy. Hopefully it makes you happy, too, all you McSwarek shippers (I'm included in that club. Hell, I'm probably the president of that club!)._**

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><p><strong>[CHAPTER 2]<strong>

A light dusting of snow covered the ground the morning of Sam and Andy's first breakfast date. The clouds in the sky threatened more snow to come, but Andy didn't care about that. Usually, she'd hate overcast days where the sun couldn't make an appearance, but nothing was going to cause her mood to diminish this morning. She was finally going to talk to Sam about her feelings for him, and she was pretty sure that he'd want to tell her a few things, too. At least, she hoped.

As she prepared for her shift, she spent a bit of extra time in making sure her hair looked smooth and in place, and her eyes were perfectly lined with a thin coat of eye liner and mascara.

When Sam's truck pulled up to Andy's new apartment, which happened to be a few blocks away from his house, the apprehension from the night before returned and caused a flutter in Andy's stomach. They had done this a hundred times; he would pick her up because otherwise she'd be late to parade, and they would drive, talking about this and that, comfortably and without reservations. They drove in near silence, but both wore matching happy grins. When Sam's truck pulled up into the parking lot, he shut off the engine and clapped his hands once in what appeared to be nervousness. "Let's go."

For a weekday, Sunset Grill, a popular all-day breakfast place, was pretty packed. Sam and Andy had picked this particular location because it generally was slower on the weekdays, but today they had no such luck. Not that it mattered to either of them; this breakfast was technically their first date, and they had both had their share of morning jitters at the thought. Yes, even Sam to a degree.

Once inside and settled, seated face to face in a small booth, they both ordered without looking at the menu – they had obviously been there many times before. As the waitress left to grab her carafe of coffee, Sam watched Andy expectantly, waiting for her to say something first. When she noticed his gaze on her, she cleared her throat.

"Thanks for suggesting this."

"Seemed like a good idea at the time, considering that our next evening would be a while from now. Personally, I didn't want to wait that long before _this _happened." He motioned between the two of them slowly. "I'm glad we're here." Andy was somewhat taken aback by Sam's candour, but was incredibly thankful for it.

"Me, too. Before Luke came butting into our conversation yesterday, I was garnering up the courage to ask you out."

Sam chuckled briefly. "You're transparent, McNally. I knew you were."

"How?"

"The tequila shots. Dead giveaway."

The waitress returned at that moment to fill their mugs with steaming coffee and left. Sam nudged the sugar dispenser closer to her, knowing that she liked her sugar with a bit of coffee. He watched her as she poured the sugar into her cup and stirred vigorously before pulling the spoon out of the cup and taking a sip and sighing. That, he knew, was a sign that her coffee was just perfect for her. He brought his own cup to his lips and drank as much as the heat from the beverage would allow before scalding his lips.

Andy put her coffee down and gave him an embarrassed look; she was a bit ashamed by her binge drinking the night before, something she tried to avoid seeing as how her father was a recovering alcoholic. She certainly didn't want to go down that road. "Well, yeah. It was the only thing I could think of."

"You mean, talking to me never crossed your mind?" Sam bit back with a teasing smirk.

"It did, but…it's _you _we're talking about. Bad-ass Swarek. I didn't know whether I even stood a chance."

Sam scoffed at this remark quietly. "Seriously, McNally?"

"Yeah, seriously," she replied quickly.

"You had no need to worry." Sam cleared his throat before replying, a bit more serious. He was done playing games with her, hoping she'd return his feelings. "Look, I'm gonna be honest here, McNally." He leaned over ever so slightly, as if he had a secret to tell her. "I want to take you out." _And make you forget all about detective boy, _he thought."I think we can be great together. But it's your move."

Andy presented Sam with a bright smile and nodded. She was done making decisions based upon what was safe for her; Sam's honest expression and words called to her, and told her that there was no need to even question it. She wanted Sam to take her out, to try to be more than just partners. More than anything. At that moment, the waitress brought their orders and left. Andy ignored her meal before her to answer Sam without hesitation.

"Me, too. About being great together, that is. How about lunch tomorrow?"

Sam smiled and nodded as he reached for his utensils to begin his breakfast. "Sounds great."

A week later, after having had lunch together almost every shift, Andy and Sam were free to go on an evening date due to Andy's day rotation. They decided to have their first evening date Sunday night. Sam had insisted that they do the old-fashioned dinner and a movie, which was just fine by Andy. They stayed close to home, going to Alice Fazooli's on King Street, then went to the Scotiabank Theatre to see what was playing. Neither of them were Twilight or Muppets people, so Andy suggested that they rent a movie and go back to her apartment. When the suggestion was made, Sam tried to keep calm, but internally, he knew that he would be tempted to do everything he had been dreaming of doing with Andy for nearly two years. He wondered aloud whether it was a wise decision, but when Andy told him in her most seductive voice, that she thought it was a great idea, he shook off his misgivings and drove them back to her apartment.

"Here we are," Andy announced with a flourish as she swung her door open and allowed Sam to step inside. He peered around and nodded, noting how everything in his vicinity appeared to already belong, though she had only been living there for a few weeks.

"Homey." He took off his jacket and handed it to Andy, who hung it up alongside hers in the closet.

"So, I haven't actually unboxed my entire DVD collection just yet, but I bought a few the other day." She led Sam to the living area, where there was a comfortable-looking black sofa positioned in front of a 40" flat screen television. Beside the television were at least five banker's boxes labelled 'DVDs'. Sam whistled at the sight.

"I never took you for a movie buff."

"Well, I'm not entirely a movie buff, but I like a LOT of movies. And those I like, I buy." She picked up two DVDs that had been on the end table beside the sofa and held them up to Sam for his perusal. "What do you think? _Unknown _or _The Change-Up_?"

Sam had an affinity for Liam Neeson so he immediately chose _Unknown_, yanking it from Andy's hand playfully and saying, "Popcorn?"

Andy smiled and nodded once. "Hell yeah. One sec." She turned and disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, Sam heard a cupboard door closing and the sound of a microwave beeping.

"Can you put the movie in?" Andy called from the kitchen.

"Yep." He unwrapped the DVD –it was brand new – and eventually, after wrestling with the annoying plastic that he was convinced was designed to agitate every consumer, slid the DVD into the player that sat below the television in the stand. He sat on the sofa waiting for Andy to return, and was rewarded with a beautiful sight; she returned wearing a dazzling smile and holding a bowl of freshly popped popcorn. The apartment filled with a rich, buttery smell that Sam inhaled contentedly. She took her seat right beside Sam as close as she could be and held the bowl half on her lap and half on his.

As the movie began, they ate silently, staring at the movie playing before them. While Sam wanted to completely forgo the movie and focus on the gorgeous woman sitting beside him all night, he knew that he wanted to do things right with her, and that included not groping her like a horny 15-year old, so he contented himself with putting his left arm around her shoulders as they watched the movie. He told himself that he would let her make the first move if it was what she wanted from him.

It wasn't long before the bowl contained only un-popped kernels. Andy set it on the coffee table and resumed watching the movie, ever aware that Sam was sitting beside her with two free hands, and not just one occupied with eating. She had seen this movie when it was out in the theatres, and knew it was a thriller, so she wouldn't feel badly if she missed watching it for doing…other things.

Decided, she leaned into Sam, snuggling closely to his body. She straightened her back enough to come face to face with him and stopped within mere centimetres of his lips. He gazed at her, trying to read her expression and coming to the conclusion that she wanted what he wanted.

"Andy," he breathed right before her lips came together with his. The kiss was slow at first, as if the couple were trying to reacquaint themselves after all those months after the blackout. That quickly faded and the heat from their kiss began to intensify as Sam's hand dove into Andy's hair to hold her closer to him, if that was even possible. Andy let out a small moan at the primal and urgent feeling that action had created within her. She wanted him to take control and take her. Sam replied with a quiet cry of his own and began trailing kisses from her lips to her cheek, lower still down her neck, a spot that Andy had a weakness for.

Her hands found his hair and ran through it as his mouth explored her delicate neck. As he pecked and licked, Andy pulled the two of them down into a lying position on the sofa and widened her legs to give Sam a better angle at her. His free hand came to rest beside her head to hold him up and keep all of his weight off of her.

"Oh God, Sam, that feels amazing," Andy whispered. He came up for air briefly before turning his attentions back to her lips. His tongue dove into her mouth without hindrance and slowly felt around, stroking hers. Andy couldn't help but compare this explosive, exciting kiss with her last kiss with Luke, and thinking that Luke's had failed to ignite within her the same feelings of passion or completeness as Sam's was. If she was being honest with herself, every kiss with Luke had fallen short in the passion department. She couldn't bring herself to think any more of Luke while Sam was making her feel things she was sure she'd never felt before. She felt Sam press his groin into hers, seeking the friction they both needed. It was obvious that Sam was enjoying himself; his hard manhood told her beyond a shadow of a doubt. She moaned at the feeling of him grinding against her as they continued their heated embrace. Andy wondered if he could tell that she'd need to change her panties pretty soon.

Oh, he knew.

He would have had to be a complete idiot not to know how he was affecting her. He could feel the heat of her body radiating through her clothing with every touch of their lips and his hands on her body.

Sam was in paradise. Only one thing would make it better at that moment – to strip them of all the clothes preventing him from seeing her in all her perfection and plunging into her like he had wanted to for almost two years – but he didn't want to rush into it. It was clear that they both wanted it, but was it really the best timing tonight? She deserved to be treated like the goddess she was to him, and Sam was determined to follow through with that.

He pulled his mouth from hers and stilled, sweeping a few stray strands of hair from her face. He wanted a completely unobstructed view of her face, her reaction.

"Andy, I want this so badly. This is all I've fantasised about for almost two years. But maybe we should take it easy. At least for now."

Disappointment was clear on her face, but he could tell she understood. "But I want you now." She understood, but that didn't mean she wouldn't try once more to get what she wanted.

Sam nodded and kissed her forehead gently. "I know, babe. I think you can feel how much I want you right now, too." That caused Andy to giggle quietly, since she was _well _aware that he was throbbing for her at that moment. "But let's take it slow, make it last, you know?"

After a moment, she gave him a smirk. "Wouldn't ya know? Sam Swarek is a gentleman. No fucking on the first date." Sam leaned down again and lay down beside her, facing her and giving her a smirk at her casual use of the word 'fuck'. He wrapped his arms around her.

"When it happens, it'll be much more than fucking, Andy," he said sincerely. "Trust me. Besides, I have many more interesting qualities you have yet to become familiar with, Officer. Being a gentleman is only the tip of the proverbial iceberg."

"I'm sure you do, Swarek. I can't wait to find out about it all."

They stayed in that position on the sofa, half-attentive to the movie before them, until Sam noticed that Andy was close to falling asleep. He roused her enough to say goodnight to her and make sure she locked the door behind him.

He walked down the stairs from the building and was suddenly hit with the strong feeling that he was being watched. Turning around slowly, playing it off as if he was checking whether he'd forgotten anything and patting his pockets down, he squinted briefly before realizing that there was no one (that he could see) in his near vicinity. Knowing his instincts were usually dead right, he picked up his pace and got to his truck quickly before speeding off toward his house.

It could have been anyone, he thought to himself. Maybe someone he once knew from when he was deep undercover who had tracked him down. He'd have a talk with Donovan Boyd the following morning to make sure all his connections were secured after his last stint doing UC work.

Despite the unmistakeable feeling of being watched, he drove home with a smile, thinking about Andy. Their connection was strong, full of energy and, above all else, it was passionate. He knew he would do anything for that woman, and even though it was early in their relationship, he knew that she felt the same way for him.

Shortly after, as he lay in bed, his last thoughts before he fell asleep were of their evening together, and what he knew was to come between the two of them.

He didn't think at all about the eyes that had watched him leaving Andy's apartment.

* * *

><p>That morning, the mangled and bloody body of Tara Malczewski was found in the alley behind the strip club where she assumed the name of Tammy Sparks on a daily basis. She had been beaten over the head with a blunt object – probably one of the beer bottles found at the scene – before her throat was slashed and her hair cut just above the hair tie holding her hair in a high pony tail. Preliminary reports indicated that there had been no sexual assault, but Luke and the rest of the detectives deduced that it probably was due to the fact that the murder happened out in the alley, where anyone could have interrupted him mid-slaughter. Tara's shift had ended at 4am, and she was discovered at 6:23am by the early garbage collection shift. Again, the detectives were stuck with no biological or physical evidence to help their investigation. The only break they got was the lone witness who <em>thought <em>he saw a man running from the alley around 4:45am. Unfortunately, as he freely admitted he had been highly intoxicated at the time, the witness' statement was unreliable and ambiguous at best – "a guy in a dark shirt…maybe blue…I seen him running. He had a baseball hat on…uh, I don't know if it was a Jays hat," wasn't exactly the best description to go on. The detectives were no better off now than they had been after the first four murders.

At parade that day, the officers of 15 division were told about the latest victim of the 'Yonge Street Slasher', something the Toronto Sun had unoriginally named the killer to sensationalize the tragedy and sell newspapers. The officers were told to be extra vigilant and watchful of their surroundings, especially in the Yonge and Dundas area, which was going to prove troublesome since hundreds of thousands of people walked the streets of Yonge Dundas Square every day.

After Tara's body was found, three weeks passed without another Slasher victim's body being found. Although, it was likely that it was only by sheer coincidence that increased patrols came around the same time he was in search of his next victim. Nonetheless, the people of Toronto were happy with this development.

Andy and Sam were patrolling down Bathurst when they decided to grab a coffee at the closest McDonalds. Needing to stretch her legs, Andy wanted to go in and grab her order, so they parked the cruiser and went in. As they waited in line, their eyes were drawn to a news report on a television to their left. The volume was down, but the Closed Captioning was darting across the screen.

"Human skeletal remains were found early today near the Credit River in Mississauga. Peel Regional Police say the body appeared to have been placed in plain view, to be found, leaving police to question the motive. The identity of the remains and the manner of death are still to be identified by the coroner's office. The remains are believed to belong to a woman between 35 and 40 years of age. If you have any information about this case, police ask that you please call 222-TIPS."

Andy laughed humourlessly as she watched the news report showing the crime scene being cordoned off in Erindale Park. "At least this one has nothing to do with the Yonge Street Slasher."

"I guess that's the one good thing about it," Sam answered, watching the line up in front of them. "That's a hell of a case. Five women dead and nothing to go on."

"It's been three weeks, though. Maybe he's given up."

Sam shook his head and gave her a dark chuckle. "Eternal optimist, that's what you are."

Andy knew he was right; there was no way that a serial killer using such brutality to kill would simply get bored and stop killing so soon after he had started. In all honesty, this silence from the killer didn't sit right with any of the police officers. Every morning, they expected to hear about the a new young female being found in another part of the downtown core. When nothing was reported, there was relief, but also worry. What could the Yonge Street Slasher be up to in his apparent absence?

They arrived at the front of the line and ordered their coffees. After they returned to the cruiser, steaming coffees in hand, Sam took a sip and started the car up.

"So, McNally, doing anything tonight?"

She watched him and gave him a playful grin. "Maybe. You asking?"

"Yep. I was thinking of going to the shooting range and emptying some clips into some paper cut outs. You know, release some tension," he said as he pulled the cruiser into the flow of traffic.

"Sounds like a good idea."

"And then after, I wanted to make you dinner."

She wore a look of mock-surprise. "You? Cook?"

"Like I said, McNally, lots of talents under the surface," he replied smugly. She nodded and laughed. The thought of him cooking in stirred a deep blush to rise in her cheeks – an image of Sam in his kitchen wearing nothing but an apron, the curve of his perfect ass peeking out just beneath the ties, came to her unbidden, though she enjoyed it too much to be angry at her imaginative mind.

"Alright. Tonight."

Sam smiled knowingly to himself and nodded his agreement as he continued to drive.

* * *

><p>Ten days after the remains had been found near the Credit River, Tommy McNally was called into the Forensic Identification Services office on Jane Street late in the evening. The call had been placed by George Hanley, a forensic investigator who had worked with Tommy before Tommy had retired. They hadn't said much over the phone, but George advised him that it was an urgent matter and that they needed him to identify a body. Ever the cop, Tommy assumed it had something to do with an old case he had worked on but was never solved, so he gladly told his sponsor he'd be in at the next AA meeting and drove over to the office.<p>

Once there, he was directed to a room that he had known all too well during his days on the force, when he had to get reports back to the station and went straight to the source to get them as quickly as possible. The room was sterile and bland, with floor-to-ceiling bare white walls, and harsh hospital-style fluorescent lighting. George called his attention to a set of bones that lay upon an examining table and picked up a manila coloured folder, flipping through it briefly before coming upon his desired document and scanning it.

"We found these bones a few weeks ago along the Credit in Mississauga." George motioned to the table in front of the two men.

"Oh, yeah, I remember hearing about that." Tommy had taken to watching the news since he couldn't be a part of it with the police, and the daily news reports filled him with a sense of longing for his old life of police work. Sadly that had been before he'd become an alcoholic who was discharged from the force. George continued.

"Right, well, we've determined that these bones belong to a middle aged woman; we're guessing in her early forties. Based on the level of decomp, we believe she died about ten to fifteen years ago." George sighed. "There's no easy way to say this, Tommy." He paused before looking Tommy in the eye and saying, "We think it's your wife."

Completely shocked, Tommy's jaw dropped open before he could formulate a response. He glanced down at the bones and watched them with careful apprehension, as if they would suddenly spring to life at his gaze, showing him something familiar about them to confirm their identity. George's hand came to rest on Tommy's shoulder reassuringly, making him look back up at George.

"How do you know?" Tommy asked quietly.

"Mitochondrial DNA. It's a match to Andy's," George said frankly. Tommy took a breath before replying, shutting his eyes tight in a vain attempt to wake up from this surreal dream he was trying to convince himself he was currently in.

"So it _is_ Carol."

"Yeah, it is. I'm really sorry."

Tommy shook his head, scowling suddenly. "But you're saying she died over a decade ago."

"Yeah, probably around the time she took off on you guys."

"What do you mean?" Tommy questioned, looking down again at the bones.

"We suspect foul play, Tommy. While we can't be sure due to the time between her death and us finding the bones, the report shows a skull fracture caused by a blunt object, maybe a baseball bat."

"Shit," Tommy cursed. "You mean, you think she was murdered."

"That's what it looks like, yeah. We can't be entirely sure, mind you, but it's a strong possibility."

Tommy was silent while he processed the facts before him. He had beaten himself up over his wife's abandonment of him and their only daughter ever since she had never come home one day almost 14 years ago. He blamed himself for their failure of a marriage, for her leaving a broken daughter behind without so much as a second thought or a phone call to her. Tommy had spent countless hours and resources at work to try to locate her, if only for his daughter's sake, but when nothing turned up, it was evident that he needed to give up, like she didn't want to be found. She'd disappeared without a trace. No one had seen her, she hadn't purchased a train or plane ticket, and there was no sign of her at all in her hometown of Stoney Creek. The fact that she had died would have made so much sense. Sure, she hadn't been very happy, but to just up and leave her daughter was something Tommy never fully reconciled as an act of the woman he had once called his wife. Tommy sighed and scrubbed his face with one hand in anxiousness.

It was times like these that Tommy had once turned to the bottle to numb himself and avoid difficult situations like these, but he had been sober for nearly six months, and he was determined not to go down that road again.

"How do I tell Andy?"

George frowned. "I don't know, Tommy," he replied gently. "But she does need to know that we found her mom."

"Yeah, I know. I'll figure something out, I guess. Thanks for letting me know."

George nodded sombrely. "I have some forms for you to sign to release the bones. Maybe have them buried," he suggested.

Tommy contemplated that briefly before nodding a few times. "Yeah. I'll sign those now."

George brought Tommy to an office that was furnished comfortably, with two love seats and a unassuming desk. As Tommy sat there, holding a pen, and reading the release forms, the only thought that ran through his mind was that he needed to tell Andy that her mother may have been murdered, and that she hadn't actually left her at all.

* * *

><p>The stripper had actually taken a lot out of him. When he covered her mouth with his gloved hand, she kicked and screamed into it, trying to bite his hand. When she caught him off-guard and bit down hard, he had yelped in pain and released her long enough for her to attempt her escape on shaky legs. He was upon her instantly, however, since she had run the wrong way down the alley – towards the dead end. She was in the middle of calling him a pervert when he hit her head with an abandoned beer bottle that had been left near a dumpster only steps away. After she had been subdued, he shook his head at the turn of events as he pulled her unconscious body behind the dumpster and into a small pile of snow that had accumulated from the latest wintry blast from Mother Nature. Who would have known that Tammy Sparks would put up the fight that she did? While trying to escape, she had scratched his face with one of her claw-like fingernails, and he was winded from some of the kicks she actually landed, mainly to his nether regions. He had put an end to her life then and there, slitting her throat soon after and marring the less than pristine snow behind the dumpster with her blood. He hadn't wanted to finish with her so quickly, but he knew he would soon be drawing attention to himself so he had to make it fast. It had been satisfying nonetheless. She had such an uncanny look to her, like his mother, that watching her as the life filtered out of her body with every artery spurt made everything worth it. He had been finishing his final ritual of cutting her hair above the ponytail when he had heard a few loud drunks belting out the lyrics to "Home for a Rest" from the street at the end of the alley. It had spooked him enough to make him wrap up his mission and take off, stowing his souvenir, the snipped hair, in a zip-lock bag and tucking it securely into his jacket pocket.<p>

He lay low for the next few weeks to gage the reaction of his next victim, watching her whenever he could. While she was working, when she was alone, when she went on dates. How someone of her profession was never astute or aware enough of her surroundings to see that he was watching her, was beyond him. He chalked it up to his ability to conceal himself within a crowd. It was an art he'd perfected over his thirty five years. At first, it was a defence mechanism, but now it came in handy in his new life as the Yonge Street Slasher.

He had been watching her for years. He had watched her since he had learned of her very existence. In all truth, it was her existence that had created the necessity within him to kill everyone that looked like his mother, and in turn, like her.

The day he took the shuttle to the University of Toronto's Mississauga campus, toting his backpack full of human bones and scattered them on the banks of the Credit River, he was sending a message that he knew would reach her sooner or later.

She was the reason for five deaths. She'd learn soon enough of her role in his killing spree.


	4. Chapter 3: First Kill

_I do not own any parts of Rookie Blue, though I do have a slight obsession with the show since season two ended a few months ago. _

_As always, thank you all for your reviews!_

_Remember, this is a work of fiction; I am neither a police officer, nor am I a serial killer/psycho (though I'm sure my hubby will say differently about the psycho thing these days, what with all the pregnancy hormones coursing through me!). I am basing my knowledge of these lines of work on television and movies, since they seem to always show us a new reason to be scared of the human condition..._

**Be warned, this is a glimpse into the mind of our killer. We learn his name, and the motivation behind his terror spree. Includes some death. It's not too graphic, though.**

* * *

><p><strong>[CHAPTER 3]<strong>

He slipped into his building as quietly as possible and took the elevator up to the fifth floor where he lived in a small bachelor-style apartment. It was the dead of night, and the last thing he wanted was one of his neighbours to hear his return, nosy things that they all were, but his footfalls made an unintentional echo through the hallway as he made his way to apartment 503. He pressed himself against the closed door and breathed a sigh of relief when he found himself inside his apartment, in his own space, away from the prying eyes of the world, with the door securely locked. Five different kinds of locks made sure of that. His hand reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out an Zip Lock bag that was the same size as those he used to house each lock of hair he'd taken from his victims. He'd have another lock of hair in this bag soon, this he was sure of. He returned the bag to his jacket before taking it off and hanging it up meticulously in the small closet near the door and placing his shoes neatly directly under the jacket in the closet.

The sparsely furnished room contained only his single sized bed, a small table, and a chair. Obviously he had a refrigerator and an oven, but those two appliances stood alone in the kitchen area of the apartment. He certainly wasn't looking to entertain anyone, so there was no need for anything else to disrupt the apartment or the order he had created there for himself. The only thing that could have been considered a luxury item was his small 20 inch television, on which he watched his handiwork being reported on, and nothing else. His life was one of simplicity, and that included only having those things that were necessary to his survival.

There were some things he kept, though; things that he had tucked away in the tiny closet where he kept his clothes. These things were reminders that he still had a job to do. Feeling a sudden urge to view his keepsakes, he padded over to his closet and took the box from the top shelf. He dropped the box on the bed and pulled the lid up to reveal his most prized possessions; the ponytails he had forcibly removed from his victims. This was something he did from time to time to reminisce about each kill, relive each scream, each penetration, each life that slipped away at his command. They gave him the power he had never felt in his childhood, in his adolescence, and even now in his adult life. He and he alone had reduced each woman to a specimen in a Zip Lock bag. No one else but him. It was an incredible rush.

Each Zip Lock bag was labelled with a date, and were placed in order from earliest to most recent. The first bag was visibly older and more worn than the others, but it remained as a tribute of sorts to the woman who gave him life, but couldn't bear to stay with him and his father anymore. It was a symbol of his rage toward her and the life she destroyed by leaving.

He lifted the very first bag of hair, labelled "5.5.93" from the box gently, letting his mind drift to the day he had learned that his mother had started a life with someone else, starting a new family in a new town; the day his father died, leaving him for all intents and purposes an orphan.

Or so he thought.

_"Aaron…" his father called to him from the hospice bed in which he had resided for nearly a month. His voice was weak and raspy, though he had never smoked a day in his life. His son reached for the hand that sought his and gripped it gently. _

_"Yes, Dad." _

_"Something I have…I need to tell you…about your mom."_

_Aaron fought the urge to curse her name and demand why his terminally ill father would bring her up on what he knew was one of his last days of life. The subject of his mother always enraged Aaron, and he found no need to bring her up, but to appease his father, he bit his tongue, nodded, and allowed him to continue._

_"I saw her a few years ago. Talked to her." He took a breath and flew into a fit of coughing, releasing his son's hand to cover his mouth. Aaron took a cup of water from his bedside table and handed it to him once the coughing had subsided. He took a small sip and breathed shallowly, though it was as deeply as he could manage. "Thank you, son." He paused before starting again. "So, I spoke to her. She looked good, healthy. She always looked beautiful to me, but she looked content. Happy. And that made her look more…I don't know… she looked prettier."_

_Aaron had had enough. "Ok, so? Why are you telling me this?" he answered, trying to keep the rude tone from his voice. _

_"Son, I'm over it. She left me to find what made her happy. We got together really young and it probably was a mistake. I took care of you the best I could." _

_Aaron sighed, his frustration over the subject leaving him at the sight of his father becoming emotional. "You did a good job, Dad."_

_His father shrugged. "I tried to, anyway. My point wasn't to get you all riled up, but I wanted to tell you that…you…well, she wasn't alone."_

_"You mean she had moved on and married someone else?"_

_"Well, yes, and she was free to since we never married. But no, she wasn't with her husband. She was her daughter."_

_Aaron was floored by the news. His face scrunched up in confusion as he sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair._

_"You mean…"_

_"You have a half-sister, Aaron. She looked to be about thirteen."_

_He had never even given any thought to the possibility that maybe his mother had had children apart from him until that moment. Suddenly, Aaron was a big brother. He quickly did the math in his head and realized that she must have been born a little less than a year or so after she had abandoned him and his father. She had probably stepped out on his father and become pregnant with this half-sister of his immediately after or just before leaving them. Before he could think any harder on the subject, his father took his hand and gave him a sad look._

_"I just wanted you to know that you are not alone, son. I may be gone soon, but you have a sister out there somewhere. You aren't alone." He was pleading with his only son to remember this fact and not act irrationally, as he sometimes tended to. _

_Aaron remained silent, still stewing over the news that he wasn't actually an only child. It took a while before he spoke again, but never released his father's hand, even as his brain processed the shock. _

_"Her name is McNally now, son. Carol McNally," his father said, breaking the silence that had settled between them comfortably. "I know you, and your curiosity will eventually make you want to look for her. So…" He had another coughing fit then, silencing his next words momentarily as he hacked and wheezed. When the coughing stopped, his voice was much weaker than before. "So…just remember that. It isn't your sister's fault."_

_Aaron didn't speak, but the words _'like hell it isn't'_ were moments away from leaving his lips. For his father's sake, however, he quelled them and instead said, "Rest, Dad. It's been a tiring day for you. We'll talk about this tomorrow." His father nodded, not fighting the weariness that was overtaking him and fell asleep almost instantly. _

_Aaron watched his father as his chest rose and fell slowly. His father had once told him that he hated what the woman who he called mother had done to him and to Aaron, and blamed her for many failures in his life since then. Now, it seemed that he had made peace with those feelings of resentment and hatred, no doubt a side effect of knowing your days on Earth were numbered._

_They never talked further about the subject; Aaron's father, Jim Lyddle passed away that night of complications from pancreatic cancer, leaving Aaron Lyddle to question his next move. His father had left him a substantial inheritance and a rental property which allowed him to do whatever he wanted with his life for a while without the need for employment. He was already enrolled in a few community college classes before learning of his father's illness, but had never felt like he belonged there. His father's death was the push he needed to decisively drop out of college and pursue other matters, namely finding his whore of a mother and confront her. _

_It was nearly six months to the day that Jim had died when Aaron found Carol McNally as she was returning home from the grocery store. It was a weekday, so his half-sister was sure to be at school. It was better that way. He sure as hell didn't want to meet the girl who potentially broke up his family._

_He watched her as she walked into the small bungalow toting two plastic shopping bags in her hands. There was no mistaking it; it was his mother. The lean frame, the long legs, high cheek bones, the long brown hair tied in a pony tail. The kind – or what he had believed were kind – eyes he remembered from his childhood. It was her. A deep chill ran through his body as he came to this realization and continued to watch her. Her face showed signs of frustration and weariness, like her day had been less than pleasant. She fiddled with her keys, transferring both shopping bags to one hand while finding the right key for the front door's lock. He approached her as the key slipped into the lock._

_He cleared his throat behind her, causing her to jump and turn. "Yes? Can I help you?" she asked in an annoyed tone. _

_"Carol McNally?"_

_"Yes." Again, the annoyance was evident in her voice. _

_"I…I'm Aaron."_

_When she gasped, Aaron smiled, though he was unsure why. _

_"Aaron…my God. What…I mean…what are you doing here?"_

_"Dad is dead." Aaron was nothing if not direct and economical with his words. _

_Carol gasped again. Instead of an answer, she turned around and unlocked the door, pushing it open and motioning with her hand for him to enter. He was resistant at first, but as he entered the foreign home, his previous unchecked anger made another appearance and began to blind him. The home was warm and inviting, something he hadn't had since he was six years old. It looked like a family lived there; people cared about each other in this home. Once she had left, his father moved them to a small one bedroom apartment, a place that held no joy, no happiness for a six year old and his distraught father. On the contrary, this house was abundant in space and comfort. He took the living room and foyer in while Carol locked the door behind him. She put her purse down and carried the shopping bags wordlessly into the kitchen. Aaron followed her down the hallway and into the kitchen. She dropped the bags down onto the counter and turned to look at her son. He was busy looking at the refrigerator where there was, among other miscellaneous things, a picture of a little girl he assumed was his half-sister pinned under a novelty magnet. He stepped closer to get a better look at the girl, searching for any similar features to his own. The picture was taken in what appeared to be a strawberry farm, in the depths of the patches, lush green shrubs as high as her knees behind and around her. He also surmised this from the red smears on her cheeks that only came from eating excessive amounts of strawberries. She wore a pair of jean overalls and a long sleeved white shirt, hands at her hips and smiling brightly. The one thing that stuck out to him the most was that she and his mother shared the same shape in the eyes. The other feature was the long, brown hair that touched her shoulders in the picture._

_"That was taken at Andrew's Scenic Acres in Milton when she was ten. She's fourteen now," Carol said quietly. "Your half sister." She glanced down beside the refrigerator where there was a baseball bat and touched it briefly. "Ever since the Jays won the World series last year, she's been interested in baseball, like you," she said with an uncomfortable laugh, trying to show some similarities between her two children. From what she remembered, Aaron had always loved baseball. Then again, he had only been six when she left; a lot had changed since then._

_Instead of telling her how wrong she was – that baseball and all other sports held no joy for him – he huffed and turned from the refrigerator to glare at her, not buying the proud mother act she was pulling on him. At seeing the rage that was building in his eyes, she instinctively took a step back, her back against the kitchen counter. "Uh, how did Jim die?"_

_"Cancer. Six months ago."_

_Carol shook her head and wrung her hands. "I'm so sorry to hear. He was a good man." _

_Aaron couldn't stand to hear her saying nice things about a man she left. Obviously, she didn't think he was such a good man while she was destroying his life and that of her son. Though he hadn't been standing in this house of horrors for very long, he very much wanted to get out NOW. But before he left, he wanted his answers._

_"Why did you leave?" Barely contained anger dripped from each word, sending shivers down Carol's back. He looked ready to choke the life from her, but she told herself that he deserved to know the truth. _

_She took a deep breath. "I met a man who swept me off my feet. We had one night of…well, you know. The day I learned I was pregnant, I packed a bag and left." _

_So the baby – his half-sister – HAD been the reason she left him. _

_Because of this little bitch, he and his father had watched their lives fall apart around them. His father never kept a steady job after that for longer than six months, they moved from apartment to apartment, causing Aaron to turn into himself, shutting the world out since he couldn't make sustainable friends. By his tenth birthday, he simply didn't want new friends and didn't even bother trying to make them when they moved to Scarborough. The kids were different there, not like him, and they certainly never treated him like one of their own, even though his father finally settled there and found a constant job and apartment on Morningside Drive. The kids at his schools never really picked on him because he kept to himself, but rumours always circulated that he was gay, or crazy – they called him 'Short Bus Aaron' despite the fact that he wasn't bussed to school. _

_His father, the one person who loved and cared for Aaron, had died in a goddamned hospice because they hadn't caught the cancer in time. Had Carol still been with them, she would have been with him and noticed the subtle differences in his health that indicated he was sick. Aaron had been busy with school and only realized Jim was sick when it was too late. _

_Aaron was sure of it._

_It was all his half-sister's fault. She was the reason his life had fallen apart. It had been doomed from the moment she was conceived. _

_In a matter of moments it took for Aaron to run through all the reasons why in his mind, he found himself shaking with fury. _

_Carol stepped toward Aaron and put a hand on one of his crossed arms in what an outsider would consider a comforting gesture. She looked up into her son's angry and hurt-filled eyes, pleading silently for him to understand. _

_"I'm sorry, baby. I should have come for you. It was a stupid kid then, I was scared. I should have come and gotten you. You should know your sister."_

_Aaron shook off his mother's touch and squinted at her. "I have no interest in that. Or your apologies."_

_Carol looked down at her hands, letting a few tears fall from her eyes. "I am sorry, Aaron. I love you."_

_She might have continued from there, but he wasn't listening; his eyes were zoning in on the baseball bat that innocently leaned against the fridge as she spoke those lies. All Aaron could think of was that, If she _had _loved him, she wouldn't have left, she would have stayed with him and his father. She would have gotten rid of that baby and stayed with them. On top of everything, she was a damned liar. _

_Before he knew what he was doing, he watched as his hands reached down just enough to grasp the baseball bat and, as if in slow motion, swing it towards Carol's head. _

_She fell with a loud thump, awkwardly on the kitchen floor, unconscious. _

_Eyes wide, Aaron surveyed the scene before him; he had just knocked his estranged mother unconscious. She deserved more, though, than a really bad headache for what she had done to their family. _

_She deserved to die. _

_And his miserable little half-sister deserved to know what it felt like to have her mother vanish without a trace, to have her life destroyed by the actions of one selfish bitch. _

_He had always run through the hypothetical moment he'd meet his mother again, and it had always ended the same, though he figured he would never have the courage to follow through with his plans. Now, however, he had the perfect way to do it. _

_He scurried to the upper floor of the house. If he remembered his mother's quirks correctly, she would have a suitcase under a bed. He found the master bedroom and sure enough, there was a suitcase there. He quickly filled it with things that would show a woman was leaving – the sort of things she had taken with her when she had left him and his father – and when he was satisfied that the missing items would indicate that she had taken off, he snapped the suitcase shut and ran down the stairs and out the front door to stash it in the trunk of his father's old beat up GMC van, his only mode of transportation these days. He went back to the kitchen where his mother's prone body lay and hoisted her up on his shoulder, carrying her to the van and tossing her into the back. _

_He drove off towards an old warehouse he had passed on the way into the city. He parked the car and walked into the back of the van, watching the body for movement. When he was satisfied that she wasn't going anywhere, he pulled out the small hunting knife and sheath that had been nestled between road maps and the owner's manual of the van in the glove compartment. It was familiar to him; his father had used it various times during their moves to open boxes and assemble things. Now, however, Aaron planned on using this knife to end the life of a woman he felt didn't deserve to live anymore. _

_He became distracted by the knife in his hand, time slipping away. He watched as it gleamed and shone off the lights in the van. _

_There was a noise behind him that reminded him someone was in the back of the van awaiting her fate. His mother stirred, moaning quietly, putting a hand to her head as she tried to right herself. He crouched to meet his mother eye to eye, the knife held tightly in his hand at his side. She looked up at him before glancing around her and taking in her surroundings. A shade of fear crept into her eyes when she realized she was alone with this crazy 20 year old man she had abandoned nearly 14 years earlier. When he was certain he had her attention, he crouched a bit lower and licked his lips, preparing himself for the words he had been reciting to himself for years, should he ever come across Carol. _

_"I hate you. You ruined my life." Aaron's words were emotionless, simple, like he was stating a fact that had no significance to him, instead of words that might have taken a shrink years to get out of someone._

_The last thing Carol McNally saw was the hatred-filled eyes of her son as the blade slid across her jugular and severed her carotid artery, ending any pleas of mercy that would have escaped her lips. _

As the memory faded, Aaron opened his eyes and felt that he was still holding the bag of his mother's hair. Like it was a sacred chalice, he gently put the bag back in the box, recalling how he had used the same knife to cut the hair off as he had to end her life. He had lost a few strands in the car, since he had been slightly unprepared for the necessity for a souvenir from the kill, but he was pleased with the result that rested in his hand now.

Before long, he'd have his final ponytail to add to this collection; that of his half-sister, Andrea McNally. 

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><p><strong>AN: Ok, so what Torontonian _didn't _get into baseball when the Jays won back to back World Series championships in 92/93? My parents, Portuguese immigrants who knew nothing about baseball, still love watching a good Jays game even now. My brother and I taught them the rules and they followed it religiously for years! :)**

**Please tell me what you think! **


	5. Chapter 4: Not Abandoned

_I do not own any parts of Rookie Blue, though I do have a slight obsession with the show since season two ended a few months ago. _

_As always, thank you all for your reviews!_

_Remember, this is a work of fiction; I am not a police officer. I am basing my knowledge of this line of work on television and movies, since cop shows have taken over the airwaves...and I'm perfectly ok with it._

**LEMON ALERT, finally! If sex isn't your thing, you probably shouldn't be reading this story...it's a part of life. **

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><p><strong>[CHAPTER 4]<strong>

It was the second meal that Sam Swarek had cooked for Andy, and it somehow was more delectable than the first. He had invited her over and promised her a warm, cheesy meal; it was a description that didn't disappoint by any stretch. The lasagne that awaited Andy when she arrived at Sam's house was just that – warm, cheesy, and absolutely soothing after a long and cold day on the beat. She ate in peaceful bliss, every so often moaning her content – all the while, Sam watched her with a smile. It was obvious that she was thoroughly enjoying his lasagne, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in his cooking skills.

After they practically licked their plates clean, Andy brought their dishes to the sink and got to work washing them, a task that would have only taken her five minutes. That is, if it hadn't been for Sam's interference. As she was soaping a dish in the sink, she felt two hands slink their way up her torso from her waist and he pressed his body against her back. His lips instantly found Andy's neck and began blazing a trail up and down the column of her neck. With these gentle kisses, Andy's mind began swimming, the dish in her hands forgotten.

She tilted her head enough to grant Sam even more unrestricted access to her neck, and closed her eyes. He took full advantage of this angle and began to lick the delicate skin beneath her ear while subtly grinding his hardening jean-clad length against her. His hands travelled now from her midsection back down to her hips, and back up again, enjoying every minute of touch and contact between them. It didn't hurt that she was making the sexiest noises at his touches, encouraging him to explore further. He had always thought her figure was out of this world, but feeling it under his hands was something completely different from admiring it from afar.

Andy turned to face Sam. He saw the unmistakable look of desire in her eyes, and he was never one to deny a beautiful woman anything he couldn't easily offer.

He had been waiting for nearly two years to give her all of himself. He didn't know if she had any idea that she already owned his heart, but he wanted to show her decisively.

He brought his hands to cup her face softly before his lips descended upon hers. The pace wasn't frantic at first, but it wasn't long before the electricity between the two officers grew passionate and hungry. Andy's hands grabbed at the shirt covering Sam's glorious chest, and soon, it was up over his head and being flung across the room. Andy took a moment to take in Sam's not-overly muscular bare chest before her and smile in appreciation, something that Sam noticed her doing but decided against asking her if she saw something she liked; it was clear she liked seeing him bare-chested, and they had other things to do than to discuss her likes and dislikes.

Sam paused his kisses when his hands found the hem of Andy's shirt and pulled it up, revealing Andy's black lacy bra. It was something he knew she wouldn't have worn on the job. _She must have changed into it before coming over,_ he thought. He brought his hands up and smoothed them over her breasts that were still encased in the bra, something that had to change immediately.

They resumed their heated kisses and touches briefly before Andy's hands reached for Sam's belt buckle. Before she could make any headway on removing the belt, he stilled her hands and held them in his. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he pulled her along with him as he walked down the hallway, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. Once there, Sam once again resumed kissing her, walking her backward toward the bed and not stopping until the backs of Andy's knees touched the bed and they both fell onto the bed together.

Sam stopped kissing Andy's lips momentarily to focus on her slender neck, pushing the hair away from her pulse point. She angled her head to allow him, her hands gripping his shoulders lightly. His nips and licks were gentle, but Andy could tell that they were becoming increasingly filled with hot desire to do more than just kiss. Andy applied slight pressure to his shoulders, pushing him down to remind him that there were other parts of her body that needed attention. Taking the hint with a smirk, Sam's hands came to cup her breasts, still concealed beneath her lace bra. Slowly, as if silently asking her permission, he wrapped his arms around her and reached for the clasp of her bra, looking at her questioningly. In response, she smiled. He wasted no time relieving her of the obstructing piece of fabric, throwing it behind him quickly and feasting his eyes on her breasts. He enclosed his hand around one breast while diving down and covering the other with his mouth, taking the nipple and licking it slowly. Andy moaned quietly at the feeling, telling him wordlessly that he was doing a great job. Sam then switched to the other breast, toying with one nipple as he sucked on the other.

"God, Sam."

"Like that?"

"Mmm," was all that could be deciphered from Andy's incoherent mumbles after that.

Sam let go of her breasts and travelled lower, kissing her stomach. When he reached the waistband of her jeans, his movements slowed once again as he gazed up at her. At that moment, he couldn't help but think of how gorgeous she looked; hair in disarray, lips looking like a bee had stung them, heart beating a mile a minute, a beautiful glow to her cheeks. She was stunning and, he realized, waiting for him to make love to her.

He slowly unbuttoned her jeans and pulled the zipper down, giving her ample opportunity to stop him, but begging internally that she wouldn't. When she lifted her ass to allow him to pull her jeans down her legs, he knew beyond a doubt that this was really going to happen; she wasn't running away from him. She wasn't going anywhere.

Much to his pleasure, her panties matched the discarded bra on the floor behind them.

She reached down and unzipped his fly then, making short work of his pants and boxers together and throwing them haphazardly on the floor with the rest of their clothing.

He hooked his fingers around the sides of her panties, pulling them down slowly, making her squirm just a bit before letting out a breath at the sight. He had fantasized about this moment – the moment where he'd finally be able to show her how much he'd grown to care for her, how much he'd fallen…in love with her.

It was true, and it was the moment where they were about to finally make love that he realized that he did, in fact, love this woman. He had loved her for over a year, that much was for sure. Despite her being with another man for a good portion of that time, he never made his feelings known, but his affection and respect for her grew and grew to the point where he couldn't envision his life without Andy McNally in it.

He loved her.

A smile appeared on his lips at the realization as he drew her close to him and let her sink down into the bed again beneath him.

Andy's arms came around his strong shoulders, pulling him closer to her as she deepened the kiss they were sharing. She brought her legs up and wrapped them around Sam, thrusting upward slightly to show him that she was ready. It wasn't enough for Sam, though. He wanted to make sure she'd enjoy everything that would transpire between them that night. His hand disappeared between them and began rubbing her clit gently. When she began making those erotic noises at the movement, he was happy to plunge one finger inside her deeply.

"Ah, God, that's so good," Andy cried out. He continued moving his finger in and out of her, feeling the wetness building with each thrust of his fingers. He slid another finger inside then, trying to stretch her out further to prepare her for his size. She mewled in response when he slid one more finger inside. It was a bit more difficult to do, but she wasn't in any pain and the wetness that was seeping from her told him that she enjoyed it.

"Baby," Andy practically begged.

"Yeah," Sam replied casually, though he knew from the tone of voice what she was asking without having to ask at all.

"Please, Sam. I need you."

It was all he needed. He pulled his fingers out from her and gripped his ready cock, positioning it at her opening. His free hand held him up off of her barely. As he pushed his cock slowly into her, his hand reached for her face and cupped her cheek softly. She let out a breath as she felt him filling her more and more. It sounded more like a sigh, though; she had been waiting for this for nearly two years, if she were being honest with herself. He pulled out slowly and pushed back in with a quicker stroke, repeating over and over, gaining speed and confidence with each thrust. Andy's quiet moans turned him on more and his pace increased.

"So good," she whispered, running her fingers down his muscular back, her eyes tightly closed.

Sam nodded and let out a grunt. "Yeah, you feel so good around me. Never want to stop." He pulled out then and plunged back into her as deep as he could, eliciting a slight yell of shock from Andy.

"So then don't," was her reply. Sam slowed his pace to bring his lips to hers gently. This kiss was less hungry, but passionate nonetheless. Her eyes fluttered open as she felt his kiss. She opened her mouth to allow him access, and he gently swept his tongue inside, swirling it with hers. After a moment, his lips found her ear and he whispered, "Never, baby."

Andy let another small moan out as she heard the sincerity in his voice. Her grip on his back tightened, spurring him on to pick his pace back up. His thrusts grew harder and deeper again, signalling to her that he was getting closer to completion. She was nearly there when he panted, "I'm going to come, baby." He looked at her, as if to ask where he should release.

She gave him a smile and said, "I'm on the pill. Have been for years." Then in her sexiest voice, at least to Sam, she said, "Come inside of me, Sam. I want to feel you."

He let out a moan and thrust into her faster and faster until she called out, "I'm coming, baby. Oh God," something Sam had always found to be an absolute turn-on. This prompted his own cries of release as he filled her with his seed in spurts.

After a moment of trying to catch their breath, he lowered his face to hers and kissed her again, trying to convey to her all the feelings the events of the evening had stirred within him. His experience with women, however, told him that things needed to be expressed in words instead of actions for the point to get across. He rolled off of her and laid beside her, watching the rise and fall of her stomach as she breathed. Her eyes had fallen closed, and a delicate smile rested on her lips. She looked perfectly happy and at peace, and he thought she looked absolutely beautiful in that moment.

"Andy," he whispered after having caught his breath sufficiently.

"Hmm?" she replied sleepily, her eyes staying closed, but her hand coming to rest on her still bare stomach.

"Look at me."

When she complied with his request, she found him staring at her with an intensity she had only ever seen in his eyes at work when they were chasing down a bad guy - when he was doing something he loved to do.

"I love you."

His eyes scanned her face, making sure he hadn't just made a horrible mistake in telling her his feelings this early. She opened her mouth to reply, but was stopped by Sam's hand.

"Let me explain. I've loved you for a while. Even when you were…otherwise indisposed. You don't have to say anything back, but know that I've loved you for a long time now."

She was quiet for a beat, then pulled him towards her and kissed him hard on the lips, surprising him.

"I think somehow, even being 'indisposed'," she teased, "I loved you all that time, too. I just didn't have a word for it."

"And now you do?" He smirked.

"Yeah, now I do."

He flashed her his dimples and brought her even closer to him, inadvertently rubbing his slowly hardening cock against her again. "So you love me, McNally?"

"Yeah, Swarek, I do. I love you, too."

Instead of replying in words, the couple reaffirmed their love to each other with another two rounds of lovemaking, never forgetting to use the newly confirmed four-letter word throughout.

A slight twitch of his hand on her bare stomach woke her from her slumber the next morning. She slowly opened her eyes and shifted in the bed, stretching her legs beneath the comforter. She had never taken Sam for a guy who would have enjoyed spooning, but the proof to the contrary was currently wrapped around her. She easily felt Sam's entire body pressed comfortably against her from behind and a leg resting over hers. His arm was draped over her hips and his head was somewhere behind her own, sharing residence on one pillow.

As her mind drifted to the night before, where confessions of feelings were made and they had made love several times, she couldn't help the smile that graced her lips. It had been amazing; Sam was a surprisingly gentle and attentive lover, despite his rough exterior, bringing her over the edge with him more times than she could even count.

Thinking about it made her wet with anticipation.

She turned slightly to look at his sleeping face. Her smile grew wider as she studied his face briefly. He looked the most relaxed she could ever remember him looking; his forehead was free of creases from worrying, his eyebrows were where they should have been instead of sarcastically high up, and his lips were even upturned in a small smile, like he was dreaming of something he never thought he'd get.

As she finished her assessment of this man lying behind her, his eyes behind his eyelids began moving and he slowly woke. When his eyes focused upon hers, he smiled and pressed himself further against her. She twisted around to face him completely and ground her hips into his, feeling that he was _fully _awake – his morning wood made its presence known to her.

"Good morning, Sam," she said quietly, "And _little _Sam."

"Hey," a groggy voice said beside her, "he's anything _but _little, McNally. You should know this after last night…and this morning."

"You're right," she playfully groaned, "I'm thoroughly sore from all our activities. Nothing _little _could have caused that."

"Damn right, babe. Anyway, he wanted to say good morning. Well, I did, too, but he beat me to it." He tilted his pelvis in her direction again, cupping her ass and pulling it into it as he ran his lips over her cheek and then to her lips. Feeling bold, Andy suddenly ripped the covers from herself and straddled Sam's legs, quickly resuming the kiss that was turning passionate and demanding fast.

Andy's cell phone rang just then, startling the two lovers from their kissing. Andy waved her hand in the general direction of the phone and said, "Just ignore it," before continuing to kiss Sam's welcoming mouth.

After the ringing silenced, Andy slipped her hand into the boxers Sam wore to bed and gripped his cock tightly, stroking it up and down and causing moans to come from his throat.

"Fuck, Andy, that feels so good, baby," Sam murmured.

"Good, because I'm going to make you come just like this," she replied, sex dripping from every word.

"Oh God," was Sam's only reply.

Suddenly, her cell phone rang again. Andy grunted her displeasure, but continued moving her hand up and down his length, trying to ignore the ringer.

"Maybe you should check that. Could be important." Sam's voice of reason called, though he wanted to do nothing more than let her skilful hands continue stroking him to oblivion. Andy slowed her movements and rolled her eyes in frustration. Releasing him reluctantly, she threw herself toward her bedside table where her phone was, and brought it to her ear.

"Hello?"

_"Andy, there you are."_

"Hey, Dad. What's up?" she asked, sitting up and giving Sam a confused look. Her father was never one for chit-chat.

_"I need to see you, kiddo."_

Her eyebrows drew together in worry. "Is something wrong, Dad?"

_"No, nothing, but it's kind of important. Are you busy? Can you meet me at my apartment after your shift?"_

"I'm not on shift. I'm…uh…staying at Sam's."

_"Oh. You may want to bring him along, too."_

"What's going on, Dad?" Now the worry was back; her father never really had heart to heart talks with her, except on the day that he told her he was beginning a twelve-step program and getting his life back on track. Now he was asking for one, and for Sam to come along. Something was definitely wrong.

_"I don't think it's something I can tell you over the phone, Andy. I'm home all day. Whenever you two are ready, come by. Please?"_

"Uh, sure, Dad. We'll be over in a half hour."

_"Thanks, kiddo. See you soon then."_

When Andy hung up the phone, she blew out a breath and jumped off the bed, all previous acts with Sam forgotten.

"What was that about?" Sam asked as he watched Andy get up off the bed and pick up a few articles of clothing that had been thrown to the floor in passionate the night before. She wrinkled her nose and gave him a questioning look.

"I have no idea, but he wants me to meet him at his apartment…and for you to come with me."

"Huh. Weird."

"Yeah, we might as well see what it is he wants, if you're OK with that, at least," Andy answered as she put her bra on and pulled her blouse over her shoulders, watching her reflection in the mirror opposite the bed where she could still see the delicious sight of Sam under the covers behind her.

Sam shrugged and nodded his agreement. "Sure."

He took a few moments to admire the body of the woman he loved as she put back the layers of clothing he had painstakingly taken mere minutes removing the night previous, covering up the assets that only added to his devotion to her, before leaving the bed and beginning to dress himself. He smirked, noticing Andy's eyes watching him in the mirror; they had both been caught gawking at each other as they dressed, and they were neither shy nor embarrassed about it. After all, this intimacy and physical connection was something that had been brewing between them for nearly two years, and they'd both be damned if they let it be squelched by embarrassment.

He zipped the fly on his dark jeans and walked over to Andy, who was brushing her hair gently. Her eyes followed him as he got closer and closer to her, like a hunter stalking its prey. When he was directly behind her, she felt his hand running through the hair she had been brushing moments before, while his other hand pulled at her hips, bringing them toward him. Sam swept some hair off her shoulder and pressed a soft kiss there. Andy sighed appreciatively.

Meeting her eyes in the mirror, Sam said, "We'll finish this later, babe. Your dad's waiting."

Begrudgingly, she agreed, nodding. "Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

"You guys want something to drink? Some coffee maybe?" Tommy McNally offered, guiding the couple into the living room area and motioning to the couches that Andy knew well – they were the very same furnishing the living room in the house they had shared with her mother. They were still comfortable, despite the memories associated with them. She and Sam sat down on the longer couch, Andy folding her right leg beneath her as she sat.

"Sure, Dad. Thanks."

"Ok, be right back." As Tommy gathered the necessary fixings for providing his daughter and her boyfriend with coffee, Andy and Sam were left by themselves in the living room, trying to figure out exactly _why _they were there in the first place. Andy's left leg began jumping up and down, a sure sign of anxiety that Sam had begun to know Andy for. Well, that, and the fidgeting and keeping her hands busy…

He stilled her leg with his hand and raised an eyebrow at her.

"McNally, take it easy," he said quietly.

"How can I? Dad _never _invites me over just to 'chat'," she replied, using air quotations when she said 'chat'.

Just then, Tommy came in carrying a tray with three cups of coffee, a few packets of sugar and a small pitcher of milk. Though he had spent most of Andy's life drunk out of his ever-loving mind, he knew how she took her coffee; it was something he'd never forget. He placed the tray on the coffee table before them and sat down on the loveseat to the right, watching them as they helped themselves.

"I know you don't do well without your caffeine, Andy," Tommy joked. Sam smirked.

"You got that right, Tommy. Makes her a fully functional human being."

"Look who's talking, Mr. Caffeine junkie," Andy replied with a smirk of her own as she brought a steaming cup of coffee to her lips and took a sip.

Tommy laughed and wiped his palms on his knees, then clapped. "So, how long has this been a thing?" he asked, motioning between Andy and Sam.

"Not too long," Andy replied. She wasn't exactly comfortable with discussing her love life with her father. They had never been that open with each other, and she wasn't really up for starting a new trend with him now.

Satisfied with the answer, Tommy continued. "Well, I'm glad you have each other right now."

Brows furrowed in confusion, Andy cleared her throat softly. "Dad, what's going on? What did you need to talk about?"

Tommy sighed and put his elbows on his knees, leaning towards the two officers in front of him. Andy could tell from his expression that he had one of his cop faces on – this one was the one that had to deliver bad news to a citizen. This time, she was the citizen. The hairs on the back of her neck were up the moment she realized this.

"Your mom."

Without missing a beat, Andy replied, " What about her?" The bitterness in those three words wasn't lost on Sam; she never talked much about her mother, but from what he gathered, that topic was one to avoid.

"They…uh…they found her body. Someone, uh, killed her."

Sam turned to face Andy, watching her face for any sign of distress. Instead, her expression was blank, emotionless. After all, this was the woman who had abandoned her and her father; her emotions were no doubt a jumble of conflict. After a moment, a small voice came from her. "When?"

"The coroner thinks around the time she…uh…left us. They suspect foul play."

"What are you saying?"

Tommy was silent for a moment before looking his daughter in the eye and saying, "She didn't actually leave us, kiddo. She was killed. She was taken from us." He was being careful to not let any emotion creep into his features just yet. He was waiting to see what his daughter had to say about the development.

Sam couldn't hide the surprise from his face when Tommy's words came out. He knew Andy harboured strong feelings of abandonment and anger towards her mother, so this news would surely shake her, make her question everything she'd ever known to be an absolute truth. Little did he know that those feelings were already brewing within Andy as she sat quietly beside him.

Andy had always thought that her mother had regretted settling down and having her, and didn't love her enough to stay or even call on birthdays or Christmases. Now, her very foundation of thinking had been called into question. Had she been loved enough after all? Had she been made to live without that familiar and comforting love only a mother could provide unnecessarily? Were all her self-esteem issues and feelings of doubt all for nothing? All her teenaged and adult life, she had believed that she had done something to make her mother leave, that was wasn't worthy enough, that somewhere her mother was continuing her life without her, happy to be rid of her brat of a daughter. These feelings were the cause of so many issues that Andy had to this day, but if her mother actually had been murdered, it would make everything she'd ever felt after she disappeared absolutely moot. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, to be sure. Calling all the feelings she'd ever felt into question wasn't the greatest thing for her self-confidence. It was a good thing that Sam was right there beside her. As she thought that, she felt her hand drift toward Sam's and grip it tightly.

Her mother _hadn't_ just up and left them. She _hadn't _lived out of her suitcase for a while before…

A thought occurred to Andy just then. Her head shot up toward her father.

"But, Dad, she packed a bag. Remember? That brown suitcase she stashed under the bed? It was gone that day. Some of her clothes, too." She wasn't letting go of her anger _that _easily – not without confirming all the facts.

Tommy nodded solemnly. "I know. I remember. But there wasn't a lot of stuff missing, and I never told you, but when I got home, the groceries were left on the counter. I put them away, thinking she had just forgotten something and left the house again. It wasn't really like her, but then again, I never expected her to leave, either. I just chalked it up to her being fed up with…something. We weren't overly happy, but I had always known her to be quiet, pensive."

Andy leaned over, placing her elbows on her knees and rested her forehead on her enclosed fists. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, but the only thing she could think of at that moment was that someone had made it appear that she had taken off. It was the only conclusion she could come to.

After the silence persisted for longer than a few minutes, Sam put his hand reassuringly on Andy's back and rubbed slowly.

"Someone killed her," Andy said to no one in particular. "She didn't leave willingly."

"No, she didn't," Tommy replied, finally allowing a relieved smile to appear on his face.

"Are there any leads on the investigation?" Sam couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at her quick slip back into cop-mode.

Tommy shook his head. "It was always treated as abandonment; no photos were taken. Any evidence would be long gone by now, Andy. We had no reason to believe otherwise."

Andy nodded, leaning back in her seat. She knew that cases involving women leaving their husbands were never treated as criminal investigations unless there was some form of evidence showing domestic abuse. Tommy never filed a missing persons claim, so the authorities were never even contacted. The only reason the police knew about her disappearance was because Tommy had some good friends on the force, some of whom he felt comfortable enough to share the details of his personal life.

She sighed. "Where do we go from here, Dad?"

Tommy rose from his seat, turned to a bookshelf just behind him, and picked up a brochure. He handed it to Andy. She took it and saw that it was from Mount Hope, the local Catholic cemetery.

"I was thinking we could give her a burial. All we have are her bones, but maybe we could have them cremated and put in a plot on the wall at Mount Hope."

She gave it a few moments' thought before nodding her head.

"Yeah, that's a good idea."

After coming to terms with the idea of her mother having been murdered, Andy left her father's apartment with Sam. He held her hand firmly, as if to remind her that he was still there with her. She never said it, but she appreciated the gesture, and was thankful that he had been with her when her father told her the news about her mother. They walked to Sam's truck where he opened the passenger door for her first before walking around to the other side and getting in.

Before starting up the truck, he turned to face her. "Are you alright? That was pretty heavy."

"I'll say. But yeah, I'm ok. At least, I will be. Thanks."

Sam nodded, satisfied with her answer, and kissed her lips before starting up the truck and leaving the parking lot.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This was a difficult chapter to write - yes, even the sex scene...**

**I hope that I portrayed Andy's reaction as close to character as possible. I just didn't see her flipping out, since she's lived without her mother for so long...**

**Aaron will be back in the next chapter. Stay tuned!**


	6. Chapter 5: Saying Goodbye

_I do not own any parts of Rookie Blue. Sadly. But if I did, Sam would have stopped acting like a dick two episodes ago! _

_I sincerely apologize for the delay...this has been mostly written for months now, but since the birth of my son, I haven't actually had any motivation to write. Now that season 3 is nearly done, the words have come back to me (probably due to my dissatisfaction with this season). Hope everyone's still with us!  
><em>

_Remember, this is a work of fiction; I am not a police officer. I am basing my knowledge of this line of work on television and movies. Oh, and in the case of this chapter, I'm also not a mechanic. If I were, I'd be driving a wayyyyy better car...  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>[Chapter 5]<strong>

"_'In Memoriam, Carol Jane McNally, wife, mother, friend'_," Andy read quietly - it was the inscription on the wall at Mount Hope where the ashes of her mother's bones were tucked away in a wooden box beyond the plaque. She ran her fingers over the gold plated metal and felt the indentations beneath them, trying to cement the reality to the plaque. The sense of finality that her mother was gone was slowly starting to make itself known to her. Sure, she had been gone for over 14 years, but now Carol McNally really was _gone._ Now there was no chance of her ever running into her at the local Longo's, or passing her as she was filling up at the Petro Canada. If and when Andy made any sort of plans to get married, there would be no questioning whether she should attempt searching for her mother in order to invite her – she knew exactly where she was now.

They had had a short blessing before Carol McNally's remains had been put in the incinerator. Tommy's good friend and priest, Father Phil, said a few words about the woman he remembered as Tommy's wife, and recited the Final Rites. Tommy's hands never swayed from their position – clasped together in front of him as if in prayer. Andy, on the other hand, fidgeted constantly between sweeping hair away from her face and unnecessarily straightening the black pencil skirt she wore, but once Sam noticed her nervousness, he took her hand in his and never let it go until the bones had been reduced to ash and dust and given to Tommy in a little wooden box.

"That's perfect, kiddo," Tommy McNally said beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder in solidarity as he stared at the plaque before them.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, taking her hand in his reassuringly. She blew out a breath and frowned.

"I didn't know what else to have written, really." Her father patted her shoulder and smiled.

"You did good, Andy," Tommy insisted gently. Hesitantly, Andy nodded as if it was the only way to change the subject.

"So, uh, you have the rest of the afternoon off, don't you?"

"Yeah, I'm on the night shift this week," Andy replied.

"Ok, then. You two take it easy. I have a meeting at 2, so I'd better get going." Tommy reached over and hugged his daughter, then took Sam's hand and shook it firmly. His hands then dug into his pants pockets as he turned and left Andy and Sam standing beside Carol's spot on the wall. Sam took a deep breath and released it.

"You alright, McNally?"

"Yeah," she answered, watching at her father's retreating form going through the front door. "I just worry about him sometimes, you know? I mean, this wasn't easy on me, but it couldn't have been easy on him either. He started drinking heavily after she left…I mean, you know, after she was killed. She was, like, the reason he began drinking. At least that's what I always thought."

"He seems to be taking things well, everything considered."

"I blamed her for his drinking, for his general neglect, for my having to grow up so fucking fast, everything. And now…"

"Now?" Sam prodded gently, cupping her cheek and rubbing his thumb across it.

"Now everything is different. For my dad _and _for me. I can't blame her for anything anymore, and that scares me because blame is all I've ever known. Every time something went wrong in my life, I chalked it up to her abandonment. 'please don't leave me like she did', 'I can't be with you because I have mommy issues I can't deal with', 'Dad's drunk again at the bar because she left him'. Now I have no one to blame but myself." For the first time in the week since learning about her mother's death, Andy finally allowed her emotions to overpower her. A single tear slid down her cheek, then another. Then a sob fell from her lips as they began to quiver, signalling an onslaught of more.

Sam shushed her and pulled her close for a hug, running his hand soothingly down her back. There was nothing he could say to console her at this point – nothing that would make any sense to her, given the state she was in – so he just let her release all the pent up emotion she'd been holding onto since Tommy told her Carol's remains had been found.

After a few minutes, she composed herself enough to wipe the tears that had fallen down her face and the two officers left the cemetery.

As the truck turned the corner and left cemetery grounds, Carol McNally received another visitor; her son.

He had been huddled in what looked like prayer beside another person's place on the wall farther down the hallway. He had had a perfect view of his sister, her boyfriend, and her father, despite appearing to be grieving over someone else. She would have never recognized him, but he didn't want to take any chances. After all, some had said that he bore a striking resemblance to his mother. Who knew if his half-sister's cop instincts would lead her to put two and two together when she saw him?

Besides, he wanted the control over their first meeting. When they came face to face for the first time, he'd make sure that she'd know beyond any doubt that he was her brother. And her killer.

He walked up to the plaque commemorating his mother's life and mimicked his sister's actions by running his hands over the engraved words. To any other passerby, he looked like someone trying to memorize the feeling of the lettering under his hands, trying to feel a final connection to the woman whose name was written, but this was far from the truth. Aaron had become a good actor in his 36 years. His loathing of the woman who rested there knew no bounds, even 14 years after he had murdered her in the back of his father's van. He had heard his sister's little rant about blame and guilt, and felt nothing but annoyance towards the words she uttered; it had sounded as if she was a reasonably well-rounded person who would eventually get over this. That was NOT what Aaron had had in mind when he had planted the bones near the Credit River. He wanted to make her suffer, and if he could make her father suffer a bit, too, so much the better. Now it seemed as though they'd be fine. Aaron cursed under his breath.

They had a support system – each other. They helped each other cope. The way her father had placed a hand on her shoulder told Aaron that, while they weren't overly affectionate with each other, they depended on each other to get through the cremation and interment. That sort of support and strength was something Aaron had gone without when his mother left. His father was a quiet man who had never reached out to what sparse family he had scattered throughout Ontario, and he and Aaron never talked to anyone about her abandonment. They had both taken to dealing with their pain quietly, and separately.

He knew now what he had to do to inflict the maximum pain on his sister – take her father out of commission.

Aaron took a deep breath and cemented his plan internally before lazily blessing himself, his hand flying this way and that. He then saluted the wall and said, "I'll be seeing you, Carol."

* * *

><p>The week passed uneventfully. Sure, there were the odd traffic stops, missing persons cases, and assaults, but the Yonge Street Slasher did not strike, so in Sam and Andy's minds, it had been an uneventful week for which they were grateful. After Carol's remains were found, they needed a bit of monotony and routine without fearing for the citizens of Toronto again.<p>

It was now more than a month since the Slasher had taken another victim. The optimists were singing the Toronto Police Services' praises, but the realists were sitting on pins and needles, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The general consensus was that he was just biding his time.

They were right.

* * *

><p>The blistering wind of a typical Toronto winter chilled him down to his core, but he loved it; he took a deep breath of the frigid air and almost smiled at it as it froze his nostrils momentarily. Aaron stood watching the apartment building where Tommy McNally resided and wiped his gloved hands on his jeans of brake fluid before stalking away from the nearly ancient Buick Regal parked in the spot Tommy always used. His work there was done. What he had done would make for a few weeks of immense enjoyment on his part; he'd watch how devestated his sister would be, and all the pain and suffering she had inadvertantly caused him would have been paid back temporarily. Without being seen under the cover of night, he began his brisk walk back to his tiny apartment to await the inevitable news report on CityTV that a former police officer had been killed in a car accident.<p>

* * *

><p>Tommy McNally sank into the driver's seat of his old beater, readying himself for another AA meeting with a smile on his face. His attendance had been consistent for months, and it seemed to be making a real difference in his life, and that of his daughter. Andy was finally coming around, trusting him to keep his word and turn his life around, and he was bound and determined to continue on that path towards sobriety. These meetings were only part of his plan to be more involved in his daughter's life. Without a real effort on his part, he had come too close to the real possibility that he would lose Andy forever. He definitely was not going to do that. Sure, he had screwed up a lot over the years during his mediocre parenting years with her, but he had been so torn up about his wife abandoning him and their daughter that nothing had really mattered to him except drinking himself into a stupor. In the process, he had neglected Andy when she had needed him the most. He knew he could have absolutely destroyed any chance at a real fatherdaughter relationship, had he continued drinking as much as he had been before. The alcohol had taken so much from him and his daughter, and he wasn't about to let it take anything else from him.

The car sprang to life loudly. Tommy turned the heat knob to the hottest setting before reversing and heading towards the downtown core to his meeting place at the church.

He drove for a minute before he caught a yellow light. Always being cautious, he eased on the brake to bring the car to a gradual stop at the light. As he stepped on the pedal, he noticed that he had to press a lot harder to stop than normal. He found it a bit disconcerting, and made a mental note to stop in at his buddy's mechanic shop the following day to have the brakes checked out. The light eventually turned green, and he released the brake and continued on his way.

It was just his luck; he wasn't in time to catch the following green light. He began easing on the brake a bit earlier than he would typically since he now worried about the state of his brakes. He found himself pressing the brakes down all the way and the car continuing to coast.

"What the hell?" Tommy said aloud as he realized that the car had no intentions of stopping for the now red light before him. He was still going at 68 km/hr, and getting dangerously close to the intersection ahead. The streets weren't as busy as they normally were, but the chance of him hitting another car was very good nonetheless. Tommy instantly began looking around him frantically, trying to find a spot where he could guide the car to a stop without any casualties.

Of course, there were no parks or abandoned buildings in the area.

Desperately, he began honking his car horn, trying to warn those around him that he was coming and couldn't stop. A few pedestrians walking along the sidewalk stopped dead in their tracks. Even other motorists turned to see who this man was honking at.

Unfortunately, the Dodge Caravan coming northbound on Dufferin Street came through the intersection, completely unaware of the Buick Regal barrelling towards them, and had no chance of stopping in time before they collided.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Soooooo sorry about the cliffhanger of sorts. I will update soon, promise! Please leave me a little review to let me know if you enjoyed that! :)**


	7. Chapter 6: A Fix Gone Wrong

_I do not own any parts of Rookie Blue. Sadly. But if I did, Sam would have stopped acting like a dick from the beginning of season three! _

_I sincerely apologize for the delay...this has been mostly written for months now, but since the birth of my son, I haven't actually had any motivation to write. Now that season 3 is done, the words have come back to me (probably due to my dissatisfaction with the way the season turned out) Hope everyone's still with us!  
><em>

_Remember, this is a work of fiction; I am not a police officer. I am basing my knowledge of this line of work on television and movies. Oh, and in the case of this chapter, I'm also not a mechanic. If I were, I'd be driving a wayyyyy better car...  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>[Chapter 6]<strong>

Stalking had become second nature to Aaron; creeping unseen by his victims was something of an art form to him. He had found the perfect way to always blend into his surroundings, never drawing unnecessary attention to himself while watching his next subject. Tonight was no different. He used his refined skill of lurking unnoticed in order to catch her unaware and do what he had designed himself to do with her.

Every weeknight for the last two weeks, she waited at the bus stop on Symington Avenue for the 10:23 bus, always toting only a small purse with a shiny silver buckle on the front, and one of those reusable red and black shopping bags from Lulu Lemon. She was slightly more petite than he was used to targeting, but her hair and facial features were close enough to those he liked. She would do.

He hadn't killed in some time, and he was itching for a fix. Killing had slowly become his drug, and with every slice of his blade across a woman's jugular, he'd fallen deeper and deeper into the addiction. There was no turning back even if he wanted to. The thrill was not only in finding his victim, but also in carrying out the kill itself. There was something about watching the light fade from someone's eyes, or feeling their struggling hands lose all fight in them as they fell to the ground that satisfied him beyond words. It made him feel powerful, like a God of sorts.

Through his surveillance of this girl, he'd learned her name was Cristina Oliveira, and she worked at a shoe store in the Dufferin Mall as an assistant manager. Her hair was always neatly tied into a ponytail, always presentable, and clean. The brown hair that drew him to her was probably the only similarity he found to his mother, but it was enough. Her skin tone was too Mediterranean, her cheeks too round and girlish, but it was all he needed to latch onto her and learn her schedule.

She was a creature of habit, as all his past victims had seemed to be. That was something he understood completely. He himself hated changing his routine unless absolutely necessary. His victims all had adhered to their routines religiously, which had made stalking them a breeze for someone like him. Cristina Oliveira was no exception. The only difficulty was that she did not live alone like the others had. He had learned early in his surveillance of her that she lived with her parents, a circumstance that had presented somewhat of a problem to him in terms of where her eventual murder would be carried out. Her place of work was too public, and her work schedule always had her finishing well before it was dark out.

Luckily for him, his prey was about to have the house all to herself for a month. She confirmed this that evening while talking on her cell phone, awaiting the bus. They were flying to Portugal a few days later, and would be gone for a month. It was the perfect opportunity to take what was his and add another lock of hair to his box.

* * *

><p>Andy paced the hallway of the emergency room waiting area of St. Mike's hospital frantically, awaiting news on her father. She had received the call from the attending nurse a few hours earlier, as she was changing from another shift at 15. She practically flew over with only the knowledge that Tommy's car had t-boned another car and that he had been rushed to emergency surgery to stop some internal bleeding. She had no idea of the severity of his condition, or whether they expected him to even live at all.<p>

She finally took a seat after her half an hour of pacing had worn down the strength in her legs, and the potential gravity of the situation hit her. She rested her elbows on her knees and brought her hands together, almost in prayer. She couldn't stop her left leg from shaking in nervousness.

Every moment that passed was a moment closer to knowing whether her father had yet again fallen off the wagon and had endangered himself and those around him with his recklessness. It had been her first thought when the hospital had called her to advise her of the accident, sad as it may be. Her father had slipped in his recovery before—many times, in fact. Something had been different when he told her that _this time _would be the time it would actually work and he'd really stop drinking for good. She prayed that her first instinct to doubt his recovery was wrong.

"Ms. McNally?"

Andy must have fallen asleep in the waiting room because she was suddenly awoken by a nurse calling her name and gently patting her shoulder.

"Mmm," she mumbled as she stretched. "Sorry, yes, that's me."

"Your father is out of surgery."

Andy blew out a breath of relief and closed her eyes briefly before replying, "When can I see him?"

"He's being taken to recovery, and then to a room. It shouldn't be long now. I would recommend that you go home, get some rest, and return in the morning. He'll be awake then."

Andy immediately shook her head. "No, I'd rather be here when he wakes up." _So that he doesn't have time to make up some bullshit story about what _really _happened, _the cynical part of her thought. The nurse placed a hand on Andy's shoulder kindly with a knowing look in her eye.

"At least get something to eat downstairs at the Tim Horton's. He'll be in room 502 in about an hour or so."

* * *

><p>Tommy McNally awoke groggily to the face of his daughter, a broken leg, four cracked ribs, and a broken wrist.<p>

He cleared his throat a few times before saying, "Hi, Andy," quietly. He couldn't distinguish between the relief and the anger in her eyes; there were equal amounts of each emotion there.

"Dad." She didn't know whether to start her interrogation of her father or try to worried daughter route, so she chose neither and remained silent. As if on cue, Tommy McNally began speaking.

"How long have I been out? You look like you've been here a while," he commented, trying to make Andy crack a smile and break the tension that was weighing thick in the air by subtly making a comment on her ragged appearance. There was no smile to be seen from Andy, though.

"That's because I have been. You've been out at least 5 hours."

"Wow," was all Tommy could say.

After a moment, Andy shook her head at his response. "Really? _Wow_? That's all you have to say for yourself?"

Tommy's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What do you mean? My breaks gave out." A moment passed before the realization dawned on him that his daughter was accusing him of drinking and driving without actually saying the words. A look of shock appeared on his face, followed by one of hurt. "You really think I fell off the wagon, don't you?" he asked quietly, saddened by his daughter's lack of faith in him.

"Your accident is all over the news!" Andy replied, hands waving above her head in frustration.

"Hmm, slow newsday? Guess no one caught the mayor texting and driving today, huh?" Tommy joked, which finally got a brief smile out of Andy. Poking fun at Toronto's mayor had become a favourite pastime of most Canadians of late. It had just become too easy.

Tommy read his daughter's face; the brief smile was gone.

"Andy, I have not had a drink in 83 days, since the day I told you I'd quit. For you," he defended. "I swear to you, kid."

When his daughter still wore the look of skepticism, Tommy tried another route. "Check my bloodwork," he said simply. There was no underlying emotion in his voice, no hurt or frustration; he felt that he deserved to be questioned by his daughter, at least a little. After all, he _had _slipped before. He had let her down too many times before. Earning her trust back would take a lot more than going to a few AA meetings and passing on meeting friends at the Black Penny now and then. He understood her suspicion.

Andy thought about it ever so briefly before rising from her seat and saying, "Good idea, Dad. Be right back."

When she returned about ten minutes later, Andy looked rightfully remorseful.

Tommy looked up and saw Andy frown.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I...I shouldn't have doubted you. I mean, it was obvious you hadn't...ugh. I'm really sorry." She looked down at her hands, her eyes glistening with tears of shame for doubting Tommy at all. He put his good hand up to stop her from over-thinking as she normally did.

"I deserved your suspicion, but since I wasn't hammered, can you just drop it now?" Tommy asked with a hopeful smirk. Andy blew out a breath and smiled.

"Yeah," she said, grabbing her father's good hand. "Of course."

"Good. Now how about my car?"

"Write-off, Dad. Sorry."

Tommy shook his head dramatically. "I was pretty fond of that thing. And the car that I hit? Was anyone injured?"

"Thankfully, the woman only had some bruises. She was very lucky. You both were."

Tommy nodded. "Thank God. But what the hell was wrong with my brakes? I had them checked out when I had my snow tires put on, what, a month ago? My guy told me everything was perfect. I had another year in them at least."

A red flag went up in Andy's mind. "You think someone could have messed with them, Dad?"

"I don't know. I don't have any enemies...that are out of jail yet..."

"Hmm," Andy murmured.

Her father had always been an excellent driver, fortunately (or unfortunately) even when drunk. He always kept his car in perfect running order, and never had caused an accident or received a speeding ticket - a fact that probably saved his life and that of the woman he had hit since he wasn't going over the speed limit when the cars collided. Andy had already learned her lesson about trusting her father and his gut instincts. She knew that she had to check this one out.

She rose from her seat once more. "I'll be right back, Dad," she said as she pulled out her cell from her jeans pocket and rushed out of his room. She dialled Sam's number and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Hey, Sam."

_"Hey, McNally. I just heard about your dad. Is he alright?"_

"Yeah, a few broken bones and some cracked ribs, but he's going to be fine."

_"What happened, Andy? Was he..."_

"No, I checked his bloodwork. Not a drop in his system."_  
><em>

_"Thank God. But then what the hell happened?"  
><em>

"That's what I need you to find out, Sam. Can you get a copy of the collision report from the accident and tell me if the brakes were tampered with?"_  
><em>

_"You think someone's out to get your dad?"  
><em>

"I dunno, but we need to rule out the possibility."_  
><em>

_"You're right. Gimme a few minutes. I'll have them send me the report and call you back."  
><em>

"Ok, thanks, Sam. I love you."

_"Me, too, babe." _

When she disconnected the line, she felt a sense of dread reach the pit of her stomach_. _What if someone _was _trying to kill her father? How could she protect him from a danger they didn't know? If his brakes had been tampered with, there would be little to no way of knowing who was behind it. She just hoped that his apartment building had some good surveilance cameras operating. Maybe they had caught the person or persons responsible for the accident.

Andy paced outside of her father's room for a few minutes until her phone rang again. It was Sam.

_"You were right. Despite the mangled mess Tommy's car is now, they were able to determine that the brake line appeared to be cut."_

"Shit," Andy cursed. "Thanks, Sam."

_"You're welcome, babe. You want me to come meet you at the hospital?"_

"No, Dad's going to be released into my care in a few hours, so we're just going to go straight home. You can come by after your shift. I already called Best, and he's given me tomorrow...well, today, off, so I can situate my dad."

_"Alright then, see you later. Take care of yourself, Andy." _

"You, too, Sam."

_"I love you."_

"I love you, too, Sam."

* * *

><p>Aaron sat on the park bench that gave him the best view of his latest victim's backyard, including a large bay window. He had already inspected this window, and knew that it would be the best way with which to gain entry into the house when the time was right. Tonight was not that time, but that didn't mean he wouldn't watch her. He had to ensure she maintained her routine. There could be no failures.<p>

His attention was drawn to a window on the second floor when the light within turned on, muted by the dainty white curtains still drawn. He had seen this light turn on every night after she returned home from work, so he knew it was her bedroom.

As he watched the windows and the slight movement behind the curtain every few minutes, he began fantasizing about what the final night of her life would be like; would she struggle much? Would she simply wilt under the force of his attack? He had a feeling that her personality would render her immobile when faced with certain death. She wouldn't try to escape or scream. She definitely wouldn't fight him.

Suddenly, he wished that the fateful night when he would finally kill again was sooner than a few days away. Once his prey was alone in her home, he'd finally remember what it felt like to run a blade against a slender neck; to see a trickle of blood running down, turn into a river and then a spurt as the heart ran out of blood to pump through the body. He couldn't wait until that night came.

Soon.

* * *

><p>A few nights later, Cristina Oliveira jumped off the TTC and began her ten minute walk to her house, pulling her toque down over her ears to shield them from the bitter winter cold. She brought her bright pink scarf up around her neck and lifted the collar of her jacket higher to block the wind. She also had a pair of matching gloves in her pocket, but she forgot they were even there; her mind was on the chores she needed to do and the bills she had to pay for her parents while they were away. She tended to remember things easier when she listed them off aloud, so she did just that.<p>

"Toronto Hydro is due on the fifteenth, Dad's pension cheque needs to go to the bank tomorrow, and the house plants need watering," she said quietly to herself as she reached the corner of her street. With her mind being on other things, she didn't notice the figure lurking in the shadows across the street from her house, awaiting her arrival.

She took her house keys out of her purse and slid the right one into the front door's lock. It opened effortlessly. She stepped in and secured it behind her immediately, as she always did. Her parents had always taught her that you could never be too careful, even in your own home.

Dropping her lunch bag and purse by the door, she toed off her shoes and walked over to the kitchen to check the house line for voicemail. There was only one from her parents.

_"Ola, Cristina! It's Mommy!"_ Cristina rolled her eyes at her mother's continual use of _mommy, _but smiled anyway. She missed her parents terribly. _"We went to the Algarve today. Daddy got you a present already. I told him we'd get something later, but he thought you'd really like it, so I couldn't stop him! Anyway, sorry we missed you! Hope work was good today. We'll call tomorrow morning to catch you. Love you! Bye!_"

She chuckled to herself as she hit the delete button on the phone.

Cristina turned to leave the kitchen and go upstairs to change. She had television shows to catch up on and she needed to be comfortable when she did it.

Putting on a pair of black yoga pants and a pink tank top, she walked over to the bathroom and rid herself of the makeup she wore on her face. The water ran ice cold as she brought her cupped hands under the stream and splashed her face with it. She dried her face with the towel on the counter.

When her face was dried, she brought the towel down, but was shocked to see the reflection of a man standing behind her. Before she could even gasp, he had a gloved hand over her mouth. Wide eyed, she watched his reflection in the mirror as he smirked menacingly. He brought his mouth to her ear and hummed in anticipation. Cristina frantically looked around the bathroom for something with which to defend herself. Her hands found a pair of pointy tweezers and stabbed them right into the hand that covered her mouth. Her assailant yelped in pain as the tweezers made contact. They stayed planted in his hand. It was enough pain to temporarily throw him off-guard and release her. Wasting no time, she ran out of the bathroom and headed down the stairs as quickly as she could go. Behind her, she could hear him cursing at her.

"You fucking bitch! Don't leave me!" he cried as he pulled the tweezers out of his hand. They fell to the tiled floor of the bathroom with a clank as he chased after Cristina.

By the time she reached the main floor of her house, her whole body was shaking with fear and adrenaline. This made it difficult for her hands to function the way she wanted them to, but luckily, she still had her wits about her, and decided against trying to call for help using the house phone*-it would take far too long. Instead, she grabbed her purse, which still contained her cell, and ran to the front door to run to safety, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the man trying to kill her. She attempted unlocking the door, but her shaking hands made it a difficult task.

When he came up behind her, she heard him say, "Don't fight it. Your hair will be part of my collection soon." He was about to strike when she took her purse and swung the side with the decorative belt buckle at his face. He instantly retreated from her, clutching his face and moaning. She unlocked the door and ran, looking back briefly, but with enough time to see blood dripping from between her attacker's fingers.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: * when calling 911, they say to use the land line so that dispatchers can trace where the call is coming from. They can't do this just yet with cells. I'd think with gps, they would have figured out a way, but apparently not...**

**Hope this was worth the wait! Please review! **


	8. Chapter 7: Can't Be a Coincidence

_Remember, this is still a work of fiction; I am not a police officer, nor do I own any of these characters or situations. I'm also not a forensics expert. Please allow me a bit of creative license if my DNA speak isn't exactly accurate; blame CSI for that! ;)  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>[Chapter 7]<strong>

"Dad, watch your step right there," Andy cautioned her father as she navigated him around a mountain of dirty laundry that lay in a pile on the floor in the hallway of her condo. She had a steady hand on her father's back. Tommy stifled a fatherly sort of reprimand, deciding that it was best not to bite the hand that fed him, or in his case, would help him recover over the next few weeks. Instead, he nodded and heeded her warning, looking down and grimacing at the mess that was his daughter's living space.

"It's not usually this bad. Laundry day was today. I was going to do it, but then I got the call about your accident..." She saw that Tommy wasn't buying her excuse, then added, "I swear!" with a laugh that Tommy joined in moments later.

"Ok, Dad, hope this is alright. It's not much but…" Andy said weakly as she opened the door to the second bedroom in her condo. Against the wall was a futon folded straight out and a simple wooden nightstand beside it under the single window in the room. Folded sheets rested atop a fluffy pillow on the futon. The walls were sparsely covered; a simple white paint and a few of Andy's diplomas adorned them. It was probably the neatest and cleanest room in the whole condo. Andy never had a need to use this room, but kept it ready in case anyone needed a place to crash. It was going to serve its purpose for the next few weeks until her father was back on his feet, or until Andy got to the bottom of who had sabotaged his car—whichever came last.

"No, sweetie, it's perfect. Thank you. I don't want to put you out for longer than I have to, so this is just for a few days…"

"Dad, you aren't putting me out," Andy retorted. "And with your broken leg and the ribs that are cracked, plus the cast on your wrist, I doubt getting around is going to be very easy. Let me help you as much as I can, Dad. Please."

Resigned, Tommy smiled and shook his head. His daughter had the McNally stubbornness he had inherited from his own father. "Alright, kid," he said simply, turning to walk out of the room and into the living room in front of the television. Andy was right behind him to help him along. With a broken wrist and a broken leg, it would indeed be difficult to use crutches, so the hospital had rented them a wheelchair for until Tommy could put weight on his wrist when using crutches. Though he had fought and fought, saying that he wasn't an invalid, Andy made it clear to him that taking the wheelchair home would be the best thing, but that he didn't need to use it around the condo so long as he was going short distances. Luckily, the spare bedroom happened to be closest to the bathroom. If her father had trouble, she even considered placing a small television in the bedroom to limit his necessity for movement while she was working.

For now, the only television in the place was located in the living room, and Tommy was determined to catch up on his shows and the local news (now that he was no longer a part of the latter).

The two hadn't yet discussed the forensic report on Tommy's car and how the brake lines had been deliberately cut. It wasn't that Andy was afraid of what her father would say, but she didn't want to worry him or put undue stress on him, especially when he was recovering from his injuries. She knew, however, that he suspected the brakes had been tampered with. Thirty-one years on the job gave you certain instincts, and those instincts didn't leave you once you retired. Despite his suspicions, he gave nothing away and didn't mention it to her.

Andy took the seat beside her father and turned the television on with the remote control in her hand. The noon news report was about to start, so the two sat silently awaiting the news anchors to appear on the screen after the commercial about some health insurance coverage finished.

The titles for the news broadcast began and Christine Bentley and Ken Shaw from CTV appeared with almost victorious looks on their faces. Andy was about to comment when Christine began speaking.

"Breaking news this afternoon; the Yonge Street Slasher has struck again, but his victim lives to tell the tale and hopefully provide police with the description they need to identify him."

Andy and her father wore identical looks of disbelief as they watched the news report.

"It happened in the Rogers and Weston Roads area around eleven last night. The victim, whose identity is being protected, returned home from work when she was assaulted. The man had broken into her home and awaited her there. Thankfully, she was able to defend herself and flee the home, calling the police as she did so," Ken Shaw reported. "Police have been able to piece together this sketch based upon the victim's recollection." A black and white drawing of a man appeared on the screen, instantly kicking Andy's police instincts into high gear as she began committing it to memory. "The suspect is described as Caucasian male in his mid to late thirties, 5'9" tall with short, thinning dark brown hair and a medium build. In the struggle, the victim may have injured the suspect, so there could be a deep scratch on his left cheek that may have required stitches.

"This is the first known survivor of the Yonge Street Slasher since he began to terrorize the young women of the GTA in the fall. Police urge those with any information to call Crimestoppers at 222-TIPS."

Before the broadcast turned to another topic, Andy pressed the pause button on her PVR, keeping the sketch of the Yonge Street Slasher on the screen.

As Andy studied the sketch, she was shocked to feel as if she'd seen this man before somewhere. While the description the news reporter had given couldn't have been more general, the face on the screen was anything but. His face was oval and long, with high cheekbones. His hair was dark brown and straight, shaggy and hanging down around his ears. It was the eyes that made the hair on the back of her neck rise ominously; they looked identical to those of her mother—those eyes she could never forget. It could have been a coincidence or the police sketch artist's goof up, but the shape of the eyes and the spacing was unmistakeable. It was as if she was looking right into her mother's eyes. Though she had been gone for nearly fifteen years, her features were always in Andy's memory, taking up residence there. The only difference though, was that now she fondly remembered her mother's time with them instead of wishing she could forget having ever known her.

"Are you seeing this, Andy?" she heard Tommy say ever so quietly, as if he were in shock, too. Coming out of her own thoughts, she nodded numbly as she continued to stare at the television. Without a word, Tommy leaned over to the coffee table where he had left his wallet and took it. He opened it and pulled out a slightly faded family picture, which included Carol McNally, and presented it to his daughter after taking a brief look at it himself. She recognized the photo, but when she saw it again after so long, it brought her back to the day it was taken, more than twenty years ago.

_The McNally family were on their way to Niagara Falls for the Victoria Day long weekend, and Andy simply could not contain her excitement. Because of her father's job, getting away from Toronto for any amount of time was incredibly difficult, but they had figured it out this time, so off they went before anyone could question it. _

_It had only taken them an hour and a half to get to Clifton Hill, the street where most of the tourist attractions were located as well as the hotel at which they would spend the next few nights. When Tommy McNally parked the family's Ford Taurus, Andy immediately jumped out of the car excitedly, unable to wait a second longer for their mini-vacation to begin. Carol and Tommy carried their things into the lobby to start checking into the hotel, followed by an impatient young girl carrying a disposable camera in her hand. _

_"Hurry, guys! I wanna see the Falls!" she cried as her father asked for the keys to their room. _

_"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not seeing your reservation on our system. Could it have been under a different name perhaps?"_

_"No, I booked it under my last name a few days ago. Under _McNally. C_heck again." _

_The flustered clerk furiously typed away, trying to find the reservation Andy had heard her father book two evenings ago over the phone. The clerk spent the next few minutes searching and typing and searching. Unsuccessfully. After ten minutes at the front desk without locating the reservation, Tommy and Carol were visablt upset and exhausted after the drive over. It was easily seen by anyone in their vicinity, but there was one seven year old who was oblivious to all their frustration and instead, asked another front desk clerk for a small favour. _

_"Excuse me," a high-pitched voice called from behind the agitated couple, stunning them all into silence as they turned to look down at seven year old Andy McNally. _

_"Can you please take a picture of me and my mommy and daddy, please?" she asked sweetly. Little Andy had an issue with speaking out of turn, so normally her parents would reprimand her when she interrupted, but this time, her interupption has been very welcome to break the feelings of tension and exhaustion in the room. Mr. and Mrs. McNally looked down at their daughter and suddenly their grimaces melted away, being replaced by smiles at the happiness exhibited by their only daughter.  
><em>

_This was why they had taken a few days off; they needed to spend time together as a family, and enjoy the weekend.  
><em>

_Carol McNally blew out a breath and leaned over to come eye to eye with Andy. "That sounds like a great idea, right, Tommy?"  
><em>

_"Sure, kiddo." He looked to the clerk, handing the camera to the clerk. "Would you mind?"  
><em>

_The clerk smiled, grateful for the levity, and took the camera, winding it and making sure the flash was on. The family got together into position and smiled. "Say '_cheese'_!" _

Andy took the picture from his hand and took another look at her mother's face in it. She gasped when her thought was confirmed.

"It's uncanny," was all she said before grabbing her cell and calling Detective Jerry Barber.

Jerry answered immediately and asked how Tommy was doing first. Andy let him know that he was doing alright, but that they had just seen that the Slasher had attempted to take another victim last night.

"Yeah, that's what it looks like."

"How do they know it's the Slasher?"

"Something about what he said to the vic. Told her that her hair would be a part of his collection right before she hit him with her purse and ran. Fits the MO. It's a huge break in the case."

"Yeah, definitely." Andy knew she'd draw suspicion from her next set of questions, but she hoped that her friendship with Jerry Barber would wash over that. "So, if she injured him, forensics has blood to test, right?"

"Yeah, they're working on it now." Jerry paused. "Why? What aren't you telling me, Andy?"

She blew out a breath. "Can you do me a favour and, I guess-" she blew out a strained breath before continuing her thought, "-Can you have them test it against the bones they found in the Credit River in September?"

"You mean your mother's remains?" Jerry sounded appropriately concerned.

"Yes," Andy said finally. There was no use in denying it; it was in the report anyway. The whole precinct had known that the bones found along the Credit River belonged to a retired cop's wife, and a newbie-cop's mother. She had received the appropriate amount of sympathy and had gone to work the day after her mother's cremation.

"Okayyy…You're going to explain this to me once the results are back, right?"

"Of course."

Andy heard Jerry breathe a bit louder than normal on the phone before saying, "Alright, Andy. I'll let you know what they come up with."

"Thanks, Jerry. Oh, one more thing. Are they still working on my dad's car?"

"They completed their investigation on the car this morning actually. Our hunch was confirmed; the brake lines were cut, but forensics couldn't find any prints or trace on the car, though. Sorry."

"Shit," Andy cursed. "Alright, well, thanks for everything, Jer."

As she disconnected, she handed the picture of the McNally family back to her father. "Did Mom have any siblings?"

Tommy shook his head. "No, her parents died when she was three years old. She lived with her aunt in Kingston after that."

After some time, Andy finally spoke. "Jerry is going to have forensics test the blood found at the scene against Mom's DNA. I mean, can it be a coincidence that Mom's remains just happened to resurface around the same time this guy started killing, and now the first sketch of this guy comes up looking like he could be related to Mom?"

Tommy looked at his only daughter's anxious face and shook his head.

"Kiddo, I don't believe in coincidences. Not when it comes to murder."

* * *

><p>Aaron sat atop the bed in his tiny apartment, clutching a small towel against his face and fuming with anger. The blood had stopped coming out of the superficial scratch across his cheek some time ago, but he couldn't be made to care about it. His mind was on other things and the towel to his face was forgotten. He was wrapped up in regret and rage at the events of the night before. She had caught him off-guard when she had fought back. The woman had managed to get the better of him. He cursed himself for never wearing a mask. Why would he? He had never suspected her to struggle or injure him as she had. He had never suspected she would survive his attack. None had ever survived. Now she knew what his face looked like and she had no doubt told the police. It would soon be unsafe for him anywhere in the GTA. Perhaps even all of Ontario.<p>

Brimming with unchecked anger, Aaron went to his closet and grabbed the black journal that lay on top of the box of hair he had been accumulating. He yanked the pen that sat between the pages and began writing his frustrations, his thoughts, his unbridled and murderous rage. The pen ran across the page furiously. He put his thoughts and feelings into words mercilessly, nearly ripping the page with the sheer pressure of his pen. He wrote of his failure that night, and what he would do to rectify it all. He had never had a need to write after a kill, save for a description of the woman whose life he'd watch drain out of her body. Tonight, however, he had more than a bit of fury to release on the page because of his victim's struggle against him and her ultimate escape.

Once he was satisfied with his journal entry, he replaced the pen and book back to their spot on top of the box of hair and closed the closet door. He returned to his bed and turned on the television to see whether the woman who'd escaped had gone to the authorities as quickly as he had expected.

Just as he had thought, the news was abuzz with this latest of his failures. The woman had even had a sketch created that was a pretty good likeness of him. That worried him the most. It wasn't the way he had wanted things to go. It not only meant that he would have to alter his appearance, but it also meant that his timeline of revenge would have to be pushed ahead faster than he'd anticipated. His attempt on Tommy McNally's life was the first of his failures of late, but it didn't mean that all was lost. He wouldn't try anything against him again, as he was sure his half-sister would see to it that he was protected. But his sister still had no idea that he was coming for her. His original plan was still in play. If everything went the way he wanted it to, his next victim's death would cause her immense pain - Sam Swarek.

From what he'd seen of him during his off hours, he was what one could call a 'macho man'. He was into cars and was a handy-man around his home. He had a rough exterior, opting for simple jeans and t-shirts while around the house. He carried himself with an air of confident masculinity that was hard to miss. However, despite all this, he had seen Sam treat Andy with respect and devotion that was unmistakable. He laid everything at her feet and gave her anything she wanted. From what he had seen of his half-sister, he knew that she was a simple woman; not a slave to brand names or flashy things, but when he had seen them out together, it was clear that Sam subscribed to the outdated notion of chivalry, paying every time and getting her small, insignificant gifts every so often. For these simple facts, Aaron had always thought men like this were the exact opposite of what their 'manly' actions claimed them to be. They were weak for letting women creep into their houses and their lives. They were fools for letting them take over everything they used to know before them. Officer Sam Swarek was no different than the weak man his father had been, letting Carol into his heart. Aaron had no sympathy for men like this.

It was time to set his plans in motion. Starting with Sam, and ending with his dear baby half-sister's hair in his collection.

* * *

><p>Sam walked into the locker room after a long shift without seeing his partner, Andy. Since her father's accident-that had been proven as anything but-she had been given a day off to set her father up in her condo to recuperate. He missed seeing her around the precinct when they weren't riding together, but he understood that she needed this time with him. From what he had been told, their relationship was just getting back to what it had been before her mother had left...or as it appeared, had been murdered. Growing up, Andy had been 'daddy's little girl', until he began drinking, which created a huge chasm between the two of them that until now, was too vast to even consider crossing. His sobriety had given them a new chance at a great relationship, and Sam was happy for the two of them. He hadn't known his own father, so seeing the woman he loved taking care of Tommy McNally warmed his heart.<p>

He opened his locker and dropped his badge and gun holster in while he showered and changed to go home. After his long fourteen-hour shift, his weary body ached and longed for the warmth and comfort of his own shower at home, but the grime of the day needed to be removed before he set foot in his truck, so he headed off to the showers.

After his shower, he walked back to the locker room to find Andy leaning against his locker, looking frazzled. He opened his locker, pulled out his black t-shirt, and pulled it up over his head before addressing his girlfriend.

"Andy, shouldn't you be at home with your dad?" Sam asked, taking her hand in his.

"I needed to see you, Sam." The strange tone in her voice worried him. He stepped closer, taking her free hand in his and trying to decipher the perturbed look taking up residence in her eyes.

"Why? What is it?"

She blew out a breath before asking, "Have you seen the sketch of the Yonge Street Slasher?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Uh...I don't know how to say this without sounding completely crazy, but...I think he might be related to my mom somehow."

This news took Sam offguard; he shook his head in disbelief. "Why? You recognize him? You've seen him before?"

She shook her head. "No, never in my life."

"Then what the hell makes you think that he's related to your mom?"

"The eyes, the high cheekbones-"

"Andy, you _do_ know that it's a sketch, right? Created from probably the vaguest of descriptions. Witness accounts are usually pretty inaccurate because of stress and adrenaline. You know this, Andy."

Andy nodded, feeling ridiculous. "I know," she replied, her voice quiet. "But something in my gut tells me to check it out. I asked Jerry to have them cross-reference the DNA they pulled from the girl's purse with my mom's remains." Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but Andy silenced him before he could even open his mouth. "Babe, I know I sound crazy, and hell, I probably am, but I don't think it's a coincidence that my mom's remains were found around the same time this guy started killing."

Sam couldn't argue with that reasoning. Andy's gut feelings had usually been pretty reliable regarding ongoing investigations, so why couldn't the same be true about this?

Sam nodded and smiled in apology for doubting her. "It makes sense. I hope to God that you're wrong, but it won't hurt to have them check it out I guess. Did Jerry give you a timeframe?"

"No, but I know DNA takes a few weeks. I'm fine with that, but I'll be on pins and needles until I know for sure. I mean, what _if _this monster _is _somehow related to my mom? That would make him somehow related to me. God, it makes my skin crawl just thinking about it. That we could possibly share DNA."

Sam gathered her in a tight hug and brought his lips to her ear. "Even if that were true, you are nothing like the Slasher," he whispered soothingly. "DNA doesn't define us. You are the most honest and trustworthy person I know, Andy. That's why I love you." He kissed her temple before releasing her. She already seemed more relaxed and calm from the embrace alone. She gave him a small smile.

"I love you, too."

He pulled back to look into her eyes. "If the DNA turns out to be a match, we'll figure it out, baby. Together."

Andy nodded and leaned in to kiss Sam briefly before a fellow officer entered the locker room - it was Jerry Barber. Sam and Andy hastily retreated from each other, putting a normal distance between them. Jerry obviously knew they were together, but it was a knee-jerk reaction to being caught hugging while at the precinct. Jerry waved at them before heading off to his own locker opposite Sam's. Sam turned away briefly to grab his things and close his locker. "I'll be out in a minute, OK?" he told Andy. She nodded and headed out the door. When the door closed behind her, Sam walked over to Jerry, who was folding a set of street clothes he had thrown haphazardly in his locker that morning.

"Hey, Sam. Hope you didn't tell Andy to leave on my account," Jerry said.

"Well, I sort of did. But not why you think." Jerry looked at Sam curiously but waited for him to continue. "Listen," Sam's tone became quieter, like he was sharing a dark secret with Jerry. " I know that Andy asked you to get the Slasher's DNA compared to that of her mom."

"Yeah, she did."

"She's working on a hunch. One I can't really talk about, but could you do me a favour and hold off on telling her the results until you've told them to me? I'm afraid she won't like them, and I'd rather tell her myself."

"Yeah, man, I guess I can do that. I still don't know what's going on, though, Sam." There was a sort of warning in his voice Sam understood as worry for Andy and whatever it was she was mixed up in.

"I know. And I'm sorry for that, but I'll tell you everything when the time comes," he reassured his friend.

_Though I'm sure if the DNA turns out the way Andy thinks it will,_ Sam thought, no_ explanation will be needed. _

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><p><strong>AN:  
><strong>

**Again, I'm sorry for the wait in posting this one, but I hope that it was again worth it. I probably won't post again for another few weeks, so I want to wish each and every one of you a merry Christmas, filled with peace and love, and a new year filled with prosperity and health! :)  
><strong>


	9. Chapter 8: Strike

_Egads! What's this? An update?! Yes, it is. I've kept you all in suspense for far too long. The only thing I can do is apologize for the length of time between updates. I've been juggling returning to work after maternity leave, and a serious bout of writer's block...fun stuff. _

_Anyway, enjoy this one! Let me know what you think if you're still with me! _

_Remember, I'm not the owner of Rookie Blue or any of its characters, though I wish I was! :)_

* * *

><p><strong>Where we left off last chapter: <strong>

**Andy saw a resemblance in the sketch of the Yonge Street Slasher with her mother, and asked Jerry to look into the DNA of her mother and that which they recovered from the Slasher's would-be victim. **

**[Chapter 8]**

Sam Swarek's townhouse was by no means spacious or flashy—as was the case for most of the narrow townhouses in the downtown area—but it was home to him. It was cozy and comfortable, but also clean and modern. It had taken nearly three years of renovating to get it just the way he liked it; going room by room and updating fixtures, paint colours, plumbing, lighting, and even some electrical wiring. He had spent many a day off doing all of those things and more. As a result of all his hard work, he had a townhouse he was proud to call home. He felt this pride every time his foot crossed over the threshold. Despite a hard day serving and protecting the Greater Toronto Area, the minute he unlocked his door and toed off his shoes, things felt normal to him again and he could begin to unwind and relax.

Tonight shouldn't have been any different. Only something had been nagging at him all day—something that didn't go away when he got home that night as it usually did every other night. His shift at 15 started off as any other. He and his fellow officers sat in morning parade, were given their instructions and daily partnering, and sent on their ways to brave the harsh winter weather awaiting them outside.

That morning, Sam had been partnered with Gail Peck. Though her personality bordered on completely and irrevocably bitchy most of the time, he couldn't deny that she was an exemplary cop who had turned out to have some good instincts. At least he wasn't paired with someone who he couldn't trust to watch his back, someone incompetent or shady.

After following up on a domestic call, he and Peck had stopped at the Tim Horton's closest to the precinct. Sam had opted to stretch his legs and go in to get their coffees and bagels. As he walked toward the shop, the sharp cop instincts that had long been refined told him that he was being watched. Without moving too quickly or making any sudden moves, he had 'accidentally' dropped one of the Toonies he held. When he knelt down to pick up the downed change, he had scanned his vicinity quickly, unable to find anyone openly stalking him. There were a few cars in the parking lot, along with a huge line-up at the drive-thru, something that was commonplace at nearly all Tim Horton's locations no matter the time of day or night. Patrons were coming and going around him, but none were looking directly at him. It was clear that whoever had been watching him had gone to great lengths to conceal his or her placement in the scene before him. Instead of dwelling on it, Sam had continued on his way and gone inside to order. On his way out, he had taken another quick look around and had found no one again.

When he and Peck had returned to 15, the feeling of being watched again returned. Leaving the squad car, he realized quickly that Andy had been waiting for him, leaning against the wall. She had been watching the car park and Sam and Gail exit, but that didn't mean that someone else hadn't been watching him all day. It still did nothing for Sam's paranoid thoughts.

After greeting him, Andy had invited Sam to the Penny for a few drinks. He had originally declined his girlfriend's invitation, saying he was tired.

Now, however, as he tried to shake the strange feeling that lingered all day, he was rethinking his initial decision.

Instead of being relieved to be home, he felt anything but. There would be no relaxation in the home of Sam Swarek that night.

What he needed was a drink to calm his nerves; it was an added bonus that he'd get to spend a bit of time with Andy. He did a quick sweep of the house to make sure that his paranoia was unfounded—at least when it came to his home. After walking around making sure the windows were intact and locked, he turned off the lights and headed back out again.

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile...<em>

Aaron Lyddle walked down Spadina, feeling strangely confident for a man whose latest victim had escaped and had given him a scrape across his cheek that, if seen, would make him stick out like a sore thumb. He was thankful for the sudden blast of winter weather that allowed him to wear a scarf up to his nose so as to cover the distinct cut he now had on his cheek, while still blending in perfectly with the other pedestrians trying to stay warm as they walked here and there on Toronto's streets. Despite the stinging, reminding him of his recent failure, he couldn't help but feel as if he was closer to reaching his goals than ever before.

He'd spent the last few days watching Officer Swarek, trying to get his routine down. Today had been no different. Unfortunately for Aaron, Sam was smart enough to change his schedule and route to work or home every day. If he hadn't gone out of his way to search for Sam's address, Aaron would have surely lost him.

A few times, Sam had appeared to look around as if he suspected he was being watched, but had never actually caught Aaron watching him. Not that it would matter, since he had the scarf pulled so far up that only his eyes and the beginnings of the bridge of his nose were visible anyway.

Being wrapped up in his thoughts, Aaron hadn't even noticed when his evening stroll brought him to the heart of Chinatown. This time of night, the stores were just starting to close up, but he had just enough time to slip into one particular store, with a particular girl working there.

For the last few weeks, he had taken to walking. More often than not, his walks led him to Chinatown.

With each night that passed without a new victim's hair to add to his collection, his burning need to kill grew more and more incessant. It was no longer about the woman's physical appearance and resemblance to his whore mother; any woman he saw was now a potential candidate. It was suddenly more a crime of opportunity, rather than a well-executed attack on someone who reminded him of his mother.

Tonight, as his itch continued to nag at him, he stepped past the large blue dumpster in the dank alley beside the dollar store on Spadina and crouched beside a mountain of nearly-frozen garbage bags filled with paper waste.

Around this time every night, a pretty, young Chinese girl with long jet-black hair and smooth Alabaster skin would start closing up shop and take out the garbage. Aaron knew that this girl was the owner's daughter, and that they lived above the store in the small apartment overlooking the street, so he knew that his normal kill routine would have to be drastically shortened to make sure he wasn't seen or caught in the act. That meant that he couldn't take his time and enjoy the feeling of being buried inside this girl against her will, which made him a tad bit irritated, but he promised himself that he'd make sure the next kill was carried out with his full ritual intact, including taking pleasure in his victim. This kill was just one to quench a thirst that had been building for longer than he was willing to admit even to himself.

Like an addict going through withdrawal symptoms, his hands shook in anticipation of the girl's appearance in the alley as she inevitably threw away the day's garbage. He couldn't wait.

A noise coming from the side entrance of the dollar store called his attention, and he knew the time was almost upon him to add another ponytail to his collection, rushed or not.

The door opened up wide enough for someone toting two large garbage bags to exit the building. When the heavy door slammed shut loudly, Aaron sprung out of the shadows quietly to see his victim.

It wasn't exactly who he had had in mind.

A short Chinese man with streaks of white in his straight, black hair was putting the garbage in the dumpster, his back to Aaron as he threw the bags up and out of view.

The girl's father.

Aaron gripped the knife that suddenly felt quite bulky in his pocket and pulled it out.

He still needed the kill tonight. He still needed to feel the life slipping away before him. Despite his being a man, he needed this. He hadn't killed in weeks.

_Fuck, I have to. I'm going crazy without a kill. _

Without a second thought, he jumped out and plunged the knife's blade into the unsuspecting man's back, while wrapping a large hand around the man's mouth to muffle any screams he may let out. As the man's legs gave out, Aaron pulled the knife out of his back and swiped it effortlessly across his throat. As the carotid artery began spurting blood, Aaron released the man, letting him fall to the ground with a sickening thud. Once he was satisfied he wouldn't fight back, Aaron leaned over the body and pulled enough of his hair to create the tiniest pony tail he could before cutting it with his knife and walking away as if he had not just killed a defenseless man in an alley.

* * *

><p>Luke Callahan stormed out of another homicide meeting about the Yonge Street Slasher at which he had made an ass of himself. Since the case had begun a few months earlier, his focus had been elsewhere. Instead of putting every ounce of his concentration on the case and tracking down this murdering bastard, Luke's attention had been aimed at figuring out ways to make amends with Andy and set things right. He knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt that Andy McNally was the love of his life, and he couldn't let her slip through his fingers, regardless of the rumours that were now swirling around the precinct that she and Swarek were in a serious relationship.<p>

It infuriated Luke to think that Swarek had been with her for nearly three months now. Luke had always thought that Swarek would be horrible with women; it would stand to reason that his experiences while working undercover as a lowlife scumbag would cause his real love life to suffer. He had seen it happen before to better men than Swarek, and Luke was certain that he would be no different. He'd eventually act the wrong way, say the wrong things, and he would watch his relationship crumble before his eyes. So it completely amazed Luke that Sam and Andy were still dating and going strong, if the rumours were true. Luke knew he needed to do something to prove to Andy that Swarek wasn't the man he portrayed himself to be. He would eventually break her heart. While Luke certainly didn't relish the thought of hurting Andy, it would be necessary for the greater good. Once Andy's eyes were opened to how wrong Swarek was for her, Luke was absolutely sure that she would return to him, and they would finally have their happy ending together. He would take her back with open arms, he would give her a better ring accompanied by a much more romantic proposal, and they would have their dream wedding. It was his hope that they would start a family almost immediately afterward, possibly during their honeymoon.

Oh yes, he had it all planned out. All that was missing was Andy.

So while he still went into the precinct and did his job, his colleagues were starting to notice the lack of attentiveness and dedication that had helped him earn his reputation as one of the best homicide detectives in the Peel Region. The meeting he'd just left hadn't gone well for Luke since the case still wasn't turning up any strong leads. Sure, the latest victim had escaped, but they weren't any closer to finding Toronto's serial killer. The fact that the media had given this asshole a nickname irked Luke and his co-workers, but they could do nothing about it. Sensationalizing crime was something the Toronto media hadn't been able to do much of lately, since the murder rate had actually decreased in recent years, but they tried nonetheless. The Yonge Street Slasher needed to be put down like a dog, but homicide detectives weren't having any luck until now.

Luke had been practically thrown out of the meeting after it was clear that his focus was elsewhere.

Upon entering the meeting, Luke was handed the folder with the DNA sample information Forensics had collected from the crime scene. In that folder, someone had forgotten to remove the file pertaining to one Carol McNally. He had never spoken to Andy much about her mother, but he knew for a fact that her name was Carol. Before anyone else could see it, he had skimmed the file and placed it under his notes. Unfortunately his attention span had deteriorated from wavering to practically non-existent, and Luke's commanding officer's patience was running thin already with him as it was. When Luke ignored a direct question, he immediately told him to go home and get his head together. Embarrassed and infuriated, Luke had stormed out, clutching his notes and the file on Carol McNally to his chest tightly.

He drove home, his mind buzzing with Andy's mother's file and the implications of it being tucked away in that of the Yonge Street Slasher. He had already been distracted enough, but this would take up the rest of his attention.

His key slipped into the lock and he entered the house as quickly as he could, trying to get in as much time on this new development as possible before the day caught up with him as it did every night.

Within minutes of his arrival home, he was poring over the file he had stashed under his notes, searching for even the smallest clue as to what it could have possibly been doing alongside the Slasher's, three fingers of whiskey in a glass in his left hand. Though completely irrational, he felt that he concentrated better when the steady stream of alcohol flowed through his blood. More often than not, the next morning he'd find himself lying on the sofa covered in the remainder of his glass of whiskey and sporting a rather nasty hangover, but the work that he produced prior to that would always be better than a night without the whiskey.

_Why was this in the same file_? he wondered. It was common knowledge that the remains of Carol McNally had been found in early November on the banks of the Credit River in Mississauga. He read over the file again. And again. And again. What was the connection?

By that time, five victims of the Slasher had been found. Could she have been the sixth? He reread the file and was reminded that the coroner had already concluded that the remains were more than a decade old. She could have been the first of his victims. Perhaps the last investigator to view the two files had found some trace evidence on the remains to link them to the Slasher. Unfortunately, it was only speculation on Luke's part since there was nothing written in either file to point in that direction.

He was exactly where he started.

Rubbing his face in exasperation, he flipped open his own notes on the Slasher and read them over and over until he was sick of reading the moniker Yonge Street Slasher. He then came across the DNA profile that had been drawn from the blood found at Cristina Oliveira's home, the scene of the latest attack. Taking a sip of his whiskey, he held up the nearly transparent slide to the light with his free hand to see the markers and rises a bit more closely. As he looked at the slide, his gaze fell back upon Carol McNally's open case file. It was open to her DNA profile, the creation of which was standard practice when identifying remains. Placing the first slide down on the table, he took Carol McNally's DNA profile and laid it next to that of the Slasher.

Luke gasped audibly, releasing his glass in shock and letting it fall to floor, shattering upon impact.

He stared at the two DNA profiles for some time, his mouth agape, before coming to the conclusion that stared him dead in the face.

He wasn't a forensics investigator, but he had seen enough forensics reports containing DNA markers and mitochondrial DNA strands to know one thing for certain:

Carol McNally was the Yonge Street Slasher's mother.

* * *

><p>The Black Penny was alive and quite busy, filled with police officers and detectives from 15. After the day shift, Andy, Gail, and Tracy sat at their usual table waiting for the rest of the gang to join them.<p>

After downing a couple of tequila shots, the table sent Andy to procure the next round at the bar as she was the most sober and least likely to spill any alcohol. As she asked the bartender for three Molson Canadians and two more tequila shots, Andy felt two hands grip her hips gently but firmly. She knew immediately who it was holding her so intimately: Sam. Dropping her hands to his, she leaned back into his body.

"Hey, Stranger, can I buy you a drink?" Sam's husky voice called in her ear.

"Mmm, I buy my own drinks," Andy replied just loud enough for Sam to hear the recognition in her voice. "I thought you were tired."

"Got a sudden energy surge. Wanted to see you. Knew you were here," Sam replied, hoping Andy wouldn't ask further questions about the change in his plans. He'd tell her all about his paranoia, but just not now.

"Hey, I'm not complaining." Andy laughed, turning around to face Sam and give him a real, albeit alcohol-fuelled, kiss, tongue and all. Were it not for the bartender loudly clearing his throat a few times, Andy and Sam would have continued the kiss for an extra few moments, uncaring of the sets of eyes around them. When they broke their kiss, Sam helped Andy bring the drinks back to the table, but not before ordering a Corona for himself.

"Hey, Sam!" Dov called out as they returned with the drinks. "Glad you could join us." He reached behind him and pulled a vacant chair from a table behind theirs for Sam. He accepted the chair and brought it closer to Andy's.

* * *

><p>Luke knew it could hurt his relationship with Andy, but, even in his drunken state, he knew that she needed to know what he'd just discovered about her mother's connection to the Slasher.<p>

He had overheard Andy and Tracy discussing their plans to have a few drinks at the Penny. Knowing perfectly well that the half-full whiskey bottle that he'd left sitting atop the kitchen counter had been unopened before his dive into detective mode tonight, he grabbed his house keys, locked up, and started walking toward the Black Penny in the hopes of seeing his beloved Andy and letting her know what he'd just discovered.

She needed to know, and he was going to tell her, come hell or high water.

* * *

><p>AN: Are you still with me? (Bats eyelashes)


	10. Chapter 9: Secrets

_Woo hoo! Another chapter so soon! it just goes to show how strange writer's block can be... lol_

_Rookie Blue returns tonight! How brutal were the last three weeks, huh? Damn! _

_Remember, I'm not the owner of Rookie Blue or any of its characters, though I wish I was! Then I'd be able to meet Missy! :)  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>[Chapter 9]<strong>

The Black Penny was still quite full of police officers and detectives when Luke nearly stumbled out of the cab in front of the bar. He turned, threw a few tens at the driver and walked purposefully, albeit shakily, toward the front door.

Sam had his arm around Andy's shoulders, listening contentedly to Tracy's retelling of an interesting arrest she had made earlier that day, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye that he would have rather not seen that night: Luke. Normally, he wouldn't have worried about the detective's presence in the bar, but seeing how noticeably drunk he was, barely able to walk straight, and how he looked at their table with a determined gleam in his eye, Sam knew he needed to stop him before he got any closer to Andy.

Kissing her temple briefly, he rose from his chair and put a hand out, stopping Luke dead in his tracks.

Luke blinked a few times, then said, "I have to tell her."

"You've told her enough, buddy," Sam replied, patting Luke on the shoulder roughly and trying to turn him away from Andy's direction of view. His hand stayed on Luke's shoulder in a move that would have told a sober man to back the fuck off. Of course, Luke hadn't been sober for hours now.

"No, no, I have to tell her something important," Luke continued, attempting to swerve out of Sam's grip but failing miserably.

"Why don't you tell me, and I'll tell her, alright?" Sam said, trying to appease the drunken man before him. Normally, he would have already told Luke off, but something about this particular bout of drunkenness told Sam to be a little easier on him. Luke's eyes weren't completely without purpose; he was there for a reason and it looked important, at least to Luke.

"But I need to tell Andy…" Luke hiccupped, the taste of whiskey returning to his mouth. He swallowed, then said, "the Slasher…" and put his hand over his mouth, looking ready to puke.

Sam was shocked. What did Luke know about Andy's potential connection with the Yonge Street Slasher? He had to know.

He needed to get Luke out of the bar before he made a scene and potentially revealed some damaging information. He glanced around; all of their colleagues hadn't yet noticed Luke. Sam wanted to keep it that way, so he patted Luke's back less roughly this time and began to guide him to the back alley exit.

"OK, let's get you some air, buddy. Alright?" To an outsider, Sam looked like a concerned friend, but to Andy, who had been watching the whole exchange, knew that there was more to it than that. But instead of following her ex-fiancé and current boyfriend out of the bar, she decided to wait for Sam to return to ask him about it. She had had enough of Luke's professions of love to last a lifetime. Her mind returned her to that night when she was taking down tequila shots, preparing herself mentally to ask Sam out, when Luke barged into their conversation…

_"Sorry to disturb you. Andy, can I talk to you for a minute?" Luke asked, his face full of contrition._

_Andy looked at him incredulously, like she was amazed that he had the nerve to interrupt their conversation. It could have been the tequila__'s influence, b__ut instead of telling him off like she normally would have, she sighed and said, "Yeah, sure." She turned back to Sam, giving him a small smile. "I'll be right back."_

_Sam nodded silently, trying not to grimace at his frustration, and watched as Luke and Andy walked away from him and took seats at an empty booth to have a talk that Sam wished, even in his buzzed state, he could hear with perfect clarity._

_"So, how are you doing these days?" Luke began, his hands folded neatly before him on the table. _

_Andy smiled politely and replied, "Good. You?" It wasn't that she particularly cared; she was only trying to be pleasant. There was no sense in being rude, despite the fact that Luke had stomped all over her heart only a few months before when he had cheated with his ex, Jo. _

_Luke took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, she could tell he was a bit nervous. "Andy, I don't want to beat around the bush," he started again, reaching toward Andy's hands across the table. "I miss you, Andy."_

_Andy scowled. "It's too late for that, Luke. You know we're done. We were done for a long time, even before you cheated on me."_

_Luke didn't seem phased by Andy's reply. "Jo meant nothing to me, Andy. I love _you_. I want to marry _you_."_

_Andy leaned back and pulled her hands away from his as if she had been burned by his touch. _

_"No, you don't. You love _**yourself**_, and aren't ready to marry _**anyone**_." She shook her head and started shimmying out of the booth they were occupying. "We're done here."_

_She stepped out of the booth with a bit of a wobble to her step from the tequila, but was pulled back by a strong hand holding her forearm. She turned to see Luke looking down at her. _

_ "Seriously?" she said wearily. She tried moving away from him, but his grip remained firm. Plus, her buzz was preventing her full strength from stopping the whole situation. _

_His fingers tightened around her arm as he said, "I need you, Andy. You know you need me, too. It was a mistake, what I did with Jo. She doesn't mean anything."_

_"It doesn't matter anymore. It's over, Luke. Now let me go." Andy tried again to pull away, but was again met with resistance. There was definitely going to be bruises where Luke's fingers dug into her skin._

_"No!" Luke said loudly. _

_Sam, who had been watching the whole scene from his barstool and had gotten up from his seat the instant Luke had put his hand on Andy's arm, took a few steps to where the exes were standing and raised a hand. _

_"Luke, I'm pretty sure Andy told you to let her go. You'd better do what she says."_

_Luke heard the words and looked down at his hand, still securely wrapped around Andy's forearm. _

_"Or what, Swarek?"Luke retorted maliciously. _

_"Buddy, you know as well as I do that this place is full of cops." To stress his point, he motioned around him with his head. "You really want to jeopardize your career over the fact that you can't keep it in your pants?"_

_Having his mistake brought up by the likes of Swarek wasn't something he wanted to hear. Enraged, he released Andy and was about to lunge toward Swarek when Sergeant Best stepped between the two men. _

_"I suggest that you walk it off, Detective. Now." His voice boomed with authority as he glared at Luke. Suddenly very aware of the potential repercussions of his actions, Luke gave Andy one final look, and Sam one final glare, before stalking away and out of the bar. _

_"You alright, McNally?" Best asked Andy as she rubbed her forearm to get the feeling back into it. Andy released the breath she was holding when Sam began his intervention and nodded. _

_"Yeah, thanks, Sarge," Andy replied, giving her superior a thankful smile._

_Best gave a nod to Sam before heading back to his own table where Noelle and Jerry sat. _

_Sam stepped forward and briefly touched Andy's hand. "You sure you're OK?" he asked._

_Andy nodded. "Just a bit taken aback."_

_"I can't believe his nerve," Sam huffed, looking toward the door Luke begrudgingly exited moments earlier._

_"Yeah, _now _he fights for me." She laughed humourlessly with a shake of her head. _

_"He's an idiot," Sam replied, returning his gaze to the beautiful, slightly intoxicated woman before him._

_"No, _I'm_ the idiot, thinking that it would ever work with him."_

_Sam sighed and shook his head. "You were in love or whatever. It happens."_

_"I don't think I ever really was. Anyway, I think my problem is that I need to pick 'em better, that's all," Andy said, looking up at Sam, whose physical proximity was causing her to remember why she was drinking at all this evening. Something about courage in a bottle… "Uh, I think I actually already _have_ picked better…" she trailed off, waiting to see what Sam would reply. Sam's eyes lit up ever so slightly. Had Andy not been so close, she wouldn't have noticed the change in them. _

_"Yeah? Anyone I know?"_

_This was it. She couldn't very well continue without implying to Sam that she was talking about him; it would have been cowardly. Not Andy-like at all. _

_"Tall, dark, and handsome. Killer dimples." She was on a roll, and she wasn't stopping until she finally said what she needed to say to him. "Want to, uh, get a drink with me?" The tequila had made her brave._

_Sam had to chuckle at Andy's drunken awkwardness. "I think you've had enough drinks for one night. But how about breakfast tomorrow, just you and me?"_

As Andy's mind returned to the night that she finally garnered the courage to ask Sam out, the two men went out the back entrance to get some air.

Sam kept a watchful eye on Luke as they exited the bar and headed for the alley. Luke hadn't looked so hot before he suggested they go outside, so he knew he was going to let it all out so to speak, very soon.

Luke stepped out first. Once the fresh air hit his nostrils, he breathed deeply and felt slightly better. At least he wasn't on the verge of puking out all the whiskey he'd had earlier. Typically, Luke was able to hold his liquor quite well, but the heavy amount of whiskey combined with the devastating news he had come to deliver had made him anxious—horrible to combine with alcohol.

There were three other bar patrons outside huddled together having a cigarette. Angling himself and Luke away from the smokers, Sam waited for Luke to take a few more deep breaths before barraging him with questions.

Finally confident that Luke wasn't going to be sick, he began in a quiet but forceful tone to ensure the others couldn't overhear anything. "What do you know about the Slasher?"

Luke scowled. "I should be telling Andy, not you." His voice was loud and boisterous again. Sam shushed him with a motion of his hands.

"No, tell me what you know first. If it's important, I'll tell Andy. And keep your goddamn voice down!" he scolded in a loud whisper.

"It IS important," Luke replied in a subdued tone, sounding more like an insolent child than a highly regarded detective.

"So tell me." Sam wasn't budging, and Luke knew this. He also knew the severity of the news he had to share, regardless of his level of inebriation. Luke sighed in defeat. As the effects of the alcohol were slowly diminishing, so, too, was Luke's determination to speak only to Andy regarding this shocking news. Luke knew that the only way to get to Andy these days was through Swarek, so he proceeded.

"I was going through the Slasher file again tonight, and someone had left Carol McNally's DNA profile in there, too. I didn't understand why until I compared the two. They have similar DNA markers. She was the Slasher's mother."

"Fuck," Sam said quietly. Internally, Sam was fuming; Jerry was going to take an earful from Sam the next time he got a chance. _How could he be so fucking careless with DNA profiles?_

Luke watched Sam's reaction and came to a quick conclusion. "You knew." It wasn't a question.

"I suspected," Sam corrected with a sigh. "She suspects, too. Goddamnit," he muttered. Sam ran his fingers through his hair slowly and let out a long, exasperated breath.

"Tommy didn't have any other kids besides Andy, right?" Luke asked, folding his arms across his chest. Sam shook his head.

"At least not that we know of," Sam replied, leaning up against the brick wall behind them, his hands in tight fists at his side. "It could have been a kid she had before she was with Tommy, but Andy never really talked about her mother, so we don't know anything about her besides the fact that she left. We should run a background check on her life before she married Tommy."

The sudden sound of the heavy steel door to the bar slamming shut startled Luke and Sam. Sam was relieved that the smokers in the alley had finally gone back inside the Black Penny and were leaving them alone to continue their secretive discussion.

"I can do the background check."

"What I don't understand is why the DNA profiles were together in the first place."

Sam grunted in annoyance. "Andy asked Jerry to compare the two. He must have left the profile in the Slasher's file. I'll deal with Jerry. Did anyone else see the file before you today?"

Luke shook his head. "I was the first they handed it to during our meeting."

He looked at Luke's inebriated face and continued in his training officer's voice. "Good. You cannot, under ANY fucking circumstances, tell ANYONE about this. Do you understand? Not even Andy. We are the only ones who know that she is related to the Yonge Street Slasher. Got it?"

Confusion coloured Luke's face. "But she needs to know."

"Eventually, yes. But not now. This will be too much for her. Not only was her mother's murder made to look like abandonment, but the serial killer terrorizing Toronto is actually her fucking brother. She has time to learn all about this shit when we catch the cocksucker who's out there killing women. That's where you come in, Luke. You say you love Andy—"

"I do, Sam. I want her back," Luke interjected sadly.

"Yeah, not gonna happen without a fight, buddy," Sam replied without missing a beat. "But if you love her, you'll find this sonofabitch for her, and for the citizens of Toronto, before he kills another innocent woman."

"What do you think I've been trying to do for the past two months?" Luke asked, angered by Sam's implication that Luke hadn't been trying before.

"I just mean, now that we know who this guy is related to, it brings it closer to home," Sam replied calmly. "We need to figure out all the angles. It can't be a coincidence that Carol's remains were found and suddenly her son is out there killing."

After a minute's pondering, Luke closed his eyes and breathed deeply again, nodding solemnly.

"Alright, Swarek. You're right. No one else will know," Luke paused briefly, before adding, "for now."

"It's better this way, Callaghan."

"For Andy," Luke replied, extending his hand to shake Sam's.

"Absolutely, for Andy."

The men shook hands. Though they hadn't actually said the words, they had silently implemented a truce of sorts. They were now both working for a common goal; to keep the existence of Andy's brother a secret. Whether they had agreed upon it for her or their own selfish reasons, they hadn't thought of that. They both knew, however, that this secret needed to be guarded at all costs. At least until they were able to catch the Yonge Street Slasher.

Luke turned and walked out of the alley to hail a cab home. His original mission having been a failure, he decided to take his half-drunk self home to bed to sleep off the remainder of the alcohol in his system. Besides, tomorrow morning, he'd begin investigating the life of Carol McNally, and he needed to be at the top of his game to be useful.

As much as it pained him to admit to himself, he knew that Sam had made a valid point; Andy didn't need to know the truth yet. It was bad enough that she had just laid her mother to rest, but to learn that she was the serial killer's sister would probably shake her down to her very fibres. She was a great cop, and a very resilient woman, but would this news break her? He didn't want to find out.

When Sam returned to the table where Andy and the rest of the rookies were seated, he noticed Jerry had decided to join them as well and was sitting next to Tracy. As Sam approached the table, he couldn't help the glare he shot at Jerry. It was his fault that Luke had nearly told Andy about her connection to the Slasher—had he not left the profiles together, Luke wouldn't have even thought of putting the two cases together.

Luckily for Sam, Jerry didn't notice the glare. It would have been a bit tricky to explain why he was giving Jerry the death glare to all the rookies (and Andy) without mentioning the Slasher.

Sam's fingers lightly grazed Andy's shoulder, alerting her to his return. "Hey, everything OK?" she asked with a hint of concern in her voice. Sam's glare instantly disappeared and he smiled, bringing his arm around her shoulders, where it was before Luke's arrival.

"Yeah, Luke was hammered and wanted to try to talk to you. I told him to leave you alone in very polite way."

There were a few chuckles from the rookies before Luke was completely forgotten and they returned to their conversation.

The group dispersed when last call was announced. Tracy, Jerry, Andy, and Sam left together, walking to their respective cars in the parking lot. The couples walked in companionable silence towards their cars when a cell phone rang. Jerry released Tracy's hand and dug into his jacket pocket to retrieve his phone.

"Barber. Aww shit, another one? Damnit. Where? Alright, I'll be there in ten. Thanks."

Jerry looked up at his friends and frowned. "The Slasher. I gotta go, guys. Sam, can you take Tracy home?"

Sam nodded, feeling a strange chill seep through him at the confirmation of yet another Slasher victim. Without another word, Jerry kissed Tracy, waved at Andy and Sam, and took off toward his car.

The friends got into Sam's silver pick up and headed home. After Tracy was dropped off, Sam and Andy decided to head to Sam's place and spend the night together. They both weren't looking for sex. Instead, they were simply hoping for the comfort of each other's arms after a day that had just been made to feel a hundred times longer by the confirmation of another Slasher victim.

Lying in bed sometime later staring up at the darkness, Andy's voice broke through the silence.

"Another victim. This is getting out of hand," Andy lamented. She pressed herself closer to Sam's side for comfort, laying her arm across his midsection. "This guy's sick."

Sam nodded and held Andy closely, brushing his fingers over the arm that rested on him.

"Yeah, he is."

"What drives someone to do that? It just doesn't make sense to me."

Sam sighed. "It could be lots of things. Or he could just be crazy."

"We need to get this guy, Sam."

Sam could hear the sadness in Andy's voice. He turned onto his side and cupped her cheek with his left hand, rubbing the soft skin with the pad of his thumb.

"We will. Sooner or later, we will."

He leaned in and kissed her lips gently, holding her tightly in a warm embrace.

"I love you, Sam."

"Love you, too, babe."

Within a few moments, he could tell that she had fallen asleep. He, however, couldn't have been farther away from sleeping. He had been uneasy all day, and it had only grown worse after his conversation with Luke, just to be topped by the fact that the now he had confirmation that Andy did indeed have a brother, and he was a serial killer.

He was left with a mind full of questions he'd only get the answers to once the Yonge Street Slasher was behind bars.

Why was he killing women? Had he killed Carol McNally first? What message was he trying to send?

There was no way he was going to sleep tonight.

Confident that she wouldn't stir if he got out of bed, he gently guided Andy's head onto her own pillow, pulled up the covers, and removed himself from the bed. He padded to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water from the Brita pitcher in the fridge. Full glass in hand, he walked over to the large window that overlooked the street where he parked his car, and stared out into the night through the half-opened horizontal blinds. The night was clear, and the moon was bringing much-needed light to the quiet street. As he raised the glass to his lips, he saw a shadow move behind his car on the driveway. He took a quick sip and took a side step to avoid being seen by who or whatever was out there. He waited a moment until he saw a small black cat pop out from behind his truck.

"Great," Sam said aloud. "Totally paranoid now. There's no one out there, Sam. Get a grip!"

He let out a breath and took another sip of his water. After that sip, he took a gulp of water and was about to turn back toward the bedroom when he saw more movement near his truck. Either there was a cat orgy happening behind his truck, or someone was there. He watched for a moment.

That was when he finally saw him.

Under the cover of darkness, he saw a man crouched there, seemingly taking surveillance of Sam's townhouse. Snapping into cop-mode instantly, Sam grabbed the gun he had concealed under the couch in the living room and ran out the front door, barefooted, to confront whoever it was behind his truck.

When he got to the truck, he found no one waiting for him. He looked up and down the street, keeping his gun at the ready, but it was no use. Whoever had been there had already gone, but his were no doubt the same set of eyes Sam had felt watching him all day.

"What are you doing out here, Sam?" He turned to see Andy at the front door looking concerned. He shook his head, lowered the gun and walked back toward the house.

"I thought I saw some kid vandalizing the truck," he lied. "Kid took off. Nothing's damaged."

"Well, that's good. You need to come back to bed, babe. I felt you leave." She held out her hand to him. He took her hand and frowned. He thought he had been sneaky enough to evade detection, but with Andy, he really never knew what he could get away with.

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep. I'm just wired," he replied as he stepped inside and locked the front door.

A mischievous smile appeared on Andy's face then. "I know what we can do with all of that energy."

"What's that?"

"Follow me and you'll see." She beckoned him toward her, making him smirk.

The strange man forgotten for the moment, Sam followed his beautiful girlfriend into the bedroom and worked on forgetting the rest of the day, with her.

* * *

><p>Aaron breathed a sigh of relief and watched Sam from his spot in the bushes a few houses down. He had come close to being found, something his plans didn't account for. High off of his latest kill, Aaron was sloppy in choosing a place to scope out the townhouse. It was something he wouldn't duplicate, though. Besides, he was nearing the end of his killing spree.<p>

His plan was to play with their minds a bit more, and then strike.

His sister would never see it coming.

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><p>AN: I see some people being nominated for RB awards, which is awesome. Where does one learn about them, or where can I vote, or where do I send nominations? Is there a community out there that I'm oblivious to? Help please? :)


	11. Chapter 10: Bombshells

Thank you for all the reviews and follows! It means a lot that people are enjoying this story!

And if you are able to give the McCollins ship a chance, at least in fanfiction, please feel free to see my other RB story, 'As You Wish'.

_Remember, I'm not the owner of Rookie Blue or any of its characters. Oh, and please do not take offense if you love or live in Kingston. I hear it's lovely! :)  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>[Chapter 10]<strong>

_"The body of local storeowner Hui Ming Zheng was found behind his Spadina Avenue Dollar 4 U location early Tuesday morning. Police have been scouring the crime scene for evidence since Zheng's daughter made the gruesome discovery. Sources suggest that this murder is being linked with the Yonge Street Slasher. Of his six known victims, this could be his first male if investigators are correct. Police urge anyone with information regarding this or any other Slasher-related case to contact Homicide at…"_

The news report flashed on the television screen in Andy's living room. Tommy McNally sat with his broken leg propped up on the coffee table before him, sipping his morning coffee and watching the screen, shaking his head as a photo of the victim appeared.

Andy had stayed the night at Sam's place, leaving Tommy with the entire condo to himself. His leg had been healing nicely, as were the rest of his injuries from the accident, but his daughter still insisted that he stay with her until he was fully mobile. He obliged; despite the fact that she was rarely home these days, spending most of her time with Sam, Tommy felt closer to her by staying with her, and agreed to stay as long as she'd have him. He'd screwed up so much when she was growing up—he'd missed so many opportunities to make amends that now he was glad to rebuild that connection with his daughter in any way she'd let him.

Ever since the artist's rendition of the Yonge Street Slasher was released to the public a few weeks earlier, and he and Andy saw an eerie similarity between the sketch and Carol McNally, Tommy's mind had been bringing him back to the short time he had had with her, mainly a conversation that had only returned to his memory in recent days. Deep inside, he knew that the woman he had married and had a daughter with was hiding something, but it didn't click until Andy had expressed her thought about her mother's connection with the killer.

Tommy had tried to put the thought out of his mind, but it kept creeping back to the forefront of his thoughts.

…

_She had told him that she lived in Kingston with her aunt and had come down to Toronto for the weekend to visit friends. They met by chance on the TTC and from then on, they became inseparable. Of course, when she returned to Kingston, Tommy was sad but Carol had promised that she'd return to him. This went on for a few weeks, their dates always ending in chaste kisses and embraces until they finally gave into their bourgeoning love for one another the night before she was set to once again return to Kingston. She woke up in Tommy's arms, incredibly content, but also incredibly late to take her Greyhound bus back home. She had scrambled about, dressing and promising that she'd return for good in a few weeks. She would move from her parents' home and move in with Tommy in his tiny apartment, if he was alright with it. _

_He wanted nothing more. _

_She kept her promise a few weeks later, when she returned to Toronto carrying everything she owned in her brown suitcase. _

_A month later, Tommy was already certain that she was the one he wanted to spend his life with. The nervous 24-year old Tommy had gone into the local jewelry store, had purchased the best engagement ring he could on a policeman's salary and set out to see his girlfriend to ask her to be his._

_ That evening, when Tommy picked Carol up from work to watch a movie, she seemed tense and anxious, looking paler than normal. She gave Tommy a small smile as he pulled out of her apartment building's parking lot and headed toward the theatre. The drive had been filled with awkward silence and hesitant glances on Tommy's part. _Does she suspect I'm about to propose? _The reality was that they hadn't actually talked about marriage in their very short courtship, but he had a feeling that she would say yes to him regardless of the brevity of their relationship. _

_After Tommy pulled the car into a parking spot at the theatre, he shut off the car and turned to look at his girlfriend with concerned eyes. _

_"What's wrong, Carol?"_

_She sighed, closing her eyes and putting her hands over her face. Growing even more worried about her, he leaned closer and tried to pull her to him in a hug. She allowed the closeness and rested her head on his shoulder. It was a minute later that she finally broke the silence._

_"I have something to tell you." She took a deep breath and timidly continued. _

_"What?"_

_Carol seemed hesitant, but continued on. "I lived with a guy back in Kingston. He's the reason I moved to Toronto last month."_

_Tommy's face read his confusion clearly. "You didn't live with your aunt?" _

_Carol shook her head and frowned, looking down at her hands in shame. "I did before I met him."_

_Tommy's first instinct was to be jealous of this man who had obviously meant so much to Carol that she had kept his existence from him._

_"Who is he?" he asked, the barely concealed anger bubbling beneath the surface of his tone. The engagement ring suddenly felt like it weighed a __tonne__._

_"Was. And it's not what you think, Tommy," she started softly. "I don't have feelings for him anymore. Besides, I left him for a very good reason." The emotion behind her words sounded genuine, though something told him that she wasn't telling him everything. It clicked instantly for Tommy. _

_ "For me." It was a statement, not an accusation or question._

_"I fell in love with you, Tommy. I _am _in love with you. That's no secret. But it wasn't just for you that I left."_

_He stared at her thoughtfully, trying to understand what she was alluding to, but failing. _

_Instead of words, Carol took a deep breath and pulled Tommy's hand to her flat stomach. She smiled hopefully. "I'm pregnant, Tommy. I needed to leave Jim because I'm carrying your child."_

_It took an instant for the realization of what Carol was saying to take hold. Tommy's eyebrows rose in shock. He stared at his hand resting on Carol's stomach in awe. _

_"Really?" _

_She smiled happily, nodding._

_"I left him for good the day I took the pregnancy test. You gave me the best reason to leave that crappy town."_

_Another moment passed before Tommy said, "So I'm going to be a dad?"_

_Carol beamed at Tommy as she detected the happiness in his tone. "Yep."_

_Tommy pulled her close and kissed her briefly. _

_Remembering the expensive box in his pocket, he leaned back to stare at Carol's face. _

_ "This must be fantastic timing, but I was already going to ask you before…" He dipped his hand into his jacket pocket and produced the ring box. "I want to spend my life with you. I had this whole spiel laid out to ask you to marry me tonight."_

_"You wanted to marry me even before you knew about the baby?" she asked, her eyes twinkling. Tommy nodded, pulling out the box from his pocket and showing her the ring within. _

_"Wow," she said quietly but happily as she stared at the ring and then back up at Tommy's face with a smile. "Do you still want to?"_

_"Of course I do, Carol. I know we haven't known each other for very long, but I know I love you and I want to marry you. I don't want you to think that I—"_

_She cut him off by pressing her lips contentedly against his in her silent answer of 'yes'. He slipped his ring over her left ring finger and hugged her tightly. The thought of a baby being so fresh, it took him a moment to remember that she was carrying his child, and he released her. _

_"Sorry, I don't want to hurt you!"_

_Carol laughed as she pulled his arms back around her, his naivety endearing. "It's fine. This isn't the first time I've…I mean, women are pregnant all the time. We aren't that fragile. Don't worry, Tommy."_

…

Tommy had put that whole evening out of his mind after he had returned home to find Carol had packed a bag and left without so much as a note saying goodbye. _Why recall memories of happy times when they were only associated with someone who abandoned you?_ he had asked himself countless times. Now that he knew that Carol had not actually abandoned him and Andy, he had begun to allow his mind to bring him back to memories in which she was the star, thinking fondly of them.

Now, though, something she had said to him the night she had confessed that she was carrying his child, had stuck out and replayed over and over.

_This isn't the first time I've…_

Now that he was really thinking about it, he realized that there could have been a real chance that she had had another child—that her pregnancy with Andy hadn't been her first. The facts were pretty clear. He never asked for more information about this man she had lived with in Kingston; he had been satisfied with her initial answer, and, to be honest, Tommy's pride had told him that the better man had won and he was uninterested in learning more about the man who obviously couldn't hold onto his woman.

Of course, now he was kicking himself for not asking more questions of his wife about this man.

All he knew was that his name was Jim, and that he had lived in Kingston.

That didn't help anything, but it was a start.

Tommy's hand hovered over his cell phone, about to call in a favour with one of his detective friends when he heard a key rattling in the lock at the front door. Andy entered, wearing the clothes he had seen her leave the house in the day before. He smirked as he watched her lock the door behind her and hang her keys in the closet before noticing him watching her.

"Dad, whatcha doing up so early?"

"Watching my little girl do a walk of shame, that's all," he joked, taking a long sip of his cooling coffee. Andy pouted slightly.

"There's no shame here, Dad," she retorted, ready to defend her honour. "We're consenting adults, I wanted to give you privacy, and—"

Tommy lifted his free hand to stop Andy's ramblings. "I know, kiddo, I know. I was kidding. Sam's good for you, and you're old enough to do what you want. You may want to pack a set of extra clothes for the nights you stay over, though," he added with a laugh.

She blew a breath out and smiled. "Yeah, forgot about that last night. I was going to come home, but Jerry got a call about another potential Slasher victim, and we got a bit freaked out."

"No potential there; the news already suggested that it was another Slasher victim."

Andy rolled her eyes as she flopped down beside her dad on the couch. "That was presumptuous of them."

"That's the media for ya." He leaned over to put his mug on the coffee table before continuing.

"Working the day shift today?"

Andy nodded. "I'm sure we'll all be on alert after the body Homicide found. It'll be the shift from hell," Andy replied, annoyance clear in her voice. Tommy patted her leg.

"You'll be fine; you're a McNally." Andy chuckled and nodded.

"Yep. Plus, it seems like all I have are shifts from hell."

"It's because you can take it. You're a strong woman, and one helluva cop."

She was taken aback by her father's sudden words of wisdom. Eyebrows raised in surprise, she gave her father the slightest of smiles. "Thanks, Dad," was her reply.

Tommy nodded, pride twinkling in his eyes. He suddenly was reminded of last time he and Andy watched the news together and his thoughts from just moments ago.

"Any word yet from Detective Barber?"

"Nope. I knew it would take some time, so I'm not on his ass…yet," she added. "I really need to know what's going on here, Dad. Why does the sketch look like Mom? Am I going crazy?"

"No, Andy. I saw the resemblance, too. Let's just hope that it's just a strange coincidence."

Inside, Tommy's mind was thinking back to the night he had proposed to Carol, and her slip up. He knew he'd have to tell her soon, even if it turned out that it was not true.

"And if it's not just a strange coincidence, Dad? What then?"

Tommy patted the hand that rested in her lap. "We'll figure it out, kiddo."

* * *

><p>Parade that morning was louder than normal, the coppers buzzing with confirmation that the store owner was yet another Slasher victim.<p>

Sam took his typical stance, leaning against the doorframe, while Andy joined the rest of the rookies around the middle of the room.

Luke, having slept off the rest of his alcohol-induced stupor from the night before, looked clear-headed and rested as he stood at the front of the room. Instead of his usual cup of coffee, he held a clear bottle of water, taking a swig every so often. He looked at the police officers before him, and locked eyes with Sam, who acknowledged his presence with a slight nod in his direction. It was certainly a change in the way they greeted each other—rather, the way they tended to ignore each other's existence altogether. Now that they were working toward a common goal, they were civil at the very least, a definite step up.

When the time came, Sergeant Best stood at the front of the room behind the podium, alongside a serious-looking Jerry and Luke, ready to debrief the officers on the latest developments in the case.

"As most of you already know, the Slasher killed another victim last night." Jerry pointed to the photo clipped to the whiteboard behind him before continuing. "Hui Ming Zheng was fifty-three years old, emigrated to Canada in 1981, married Mei Chan a year later, opened the dollar store in 1994, has lived above the store with his wife and daughter ever since. The body was discovered by the vic's daughter, Winnie. No witnesses. No one saw anything out of the ordinary. What we have to go on is that the vic's throat was slit and a chunk of his hair was taken, the same MO as the previous victims. But the major difference is that he was stabbed in the back. The more obvious difference, however, is the fact that this is the Slasher's first male victim that we know of." Best turned the floor over to Detective Barber, who continued somberly.

"The killer is getting desperate, sloppy. While he's still keeping some of the kill ritual from before, we suspect that he's shortened it to avoid detection. It really is the only explanation, since this vic," Jerry motioned to the photo again, "doesn't fit any of the physical characteristics of the other victims. All of the previous Slasher victims have so far been young, attractive, physically fit women between the ages of twenty and thirty-one, with an olive complexion and long brown hair often worn in a pony tail."

At the description of the previous victims' physical characteristics, Sam gasped loud enough to turn some heads in his vicinity.

It had sounded like Best could have been describing Andy.

Knowing what he knew about the Slasher's relationship to Andy, Sam suddenly had his connection—answers to some of his questions from the night before were suddenly crystal clear to him.

As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he needed to speak with Jerry, and then Luke, immediately.

The rest of the briefing was a jumbled blur to Sam as his mind raced with this newfound information. As Luke went over the victims again with the officers, Sam tried to listen but was unable to focus on anything else.

Once the officers were given their assignments for the day and then dismissed, Sam walked out, determined to speak with Jerry, completely forgetting that he had been paired with Dov for patrol duties.

"Hey, the squad cars are that way," Dov called out behind Sam as he flanked Gail and Andy on their way to their squad car, too.

"I'll meet you there, Epstein," he called, walking towards the detectives' offices. Shrugging, Dov, Gail, and Andy continued on towards the lot.

* * *

><p>Sam knocked at Jerry's open door and walked right in, closing the door behind him. Jerry looked up from his desk.<p>

"Hey Sammy, what's up?"

"Remember those DNA profiles Andy asked you to get checked out?"

"Yeah, they're still working on them."

Sam shook his head briefly. "Nope. They're done, and the profiles were together in the Slasher's case file. Luke saw them, figured it out."

Jerry looked genuinely confused. "Figured what out?"

Sam sighed. He hated putting words to this information. It was bad enough it was all he had thought about for the last twelve hours.

"The Slasher is Carol McNally's son."

Jerry gaped. "No fucking way."

"'Fraid so, Jer. Why was Carol McNally's DNA profile left in the Slasher's file? Luke was this close to telling Andy all about this shit last night in his drunken idiocy." Sam pinched his fingers together in demonstration.

Jerry leaned back in his chair and put his hands on his head, elbows out. "Fuck, I don't know, man. I put in the request, but I didn't actually touch the files. Does anyone else know about this? Andy?"

"No, just you, me, and Luke. Andy doesn't need to know she has a psychopath for a brother. At least not yet."

Jerry rose from his chair, scratching his chin. "You know what this means, right? Carol McNally was actually the Slasher's first victim," he surmised. "She has to have been. The timeline confirms it."

"The fucker killed his own mother. That's sick beyond words." Sam leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him and closing his eyes. "We need to get this guy, Jer."

Sam was about to say more when he felt a knock at Jerry's door—Luke stood there, a slightly disturbed look on his face. Sam opened the door and let him in. Wordlessly, Luke motioned to Jerry as if asking Sam if he knew their secret. Sam nodded ever so slightly in response.

"I have some information about Carol McNally," Luke began. He had papers in his hands, but didn't even glance at them as he continued. "She lived in Kingston until early 1983."

"Andy was born in '83. Do we have an address for Carol in Kingston?" he asked, stepping forward.

"Yeah, Carol McNally, born Carol Bowers, lived on Westdale Avenue with a man named Jim Lyddle."

"Do we know anything about Lyddle?"

Luke shook his head, choosing that moment to flip through his notes. "Not much. Never officially married. Back then, common-law relationships weren't legally recognized, but Carol lived with him for about six years before suddenly packing up and moving to Toronto in '83. He worked odd jobs here and there after that."

"Can we talk to Lyddle? See what he knows?"

"Can't. He died of pancreatic cancer in 1993. But," Luke paused, making sure the other two men were paying close attention to what he would say next, "he did have a son. Aaron Lyddle, thirty-six." Luke took a deep breath, alternated between looking at each man dead in the eye before saying, "Birth registration lists Carol Bowers as the mother."

Sam and Jerry cursed at the confirmation.

"He's not in the system. Like at all. Hasn't had a job in years, doesn't own any property, hasn't signed a lease. No active bank accounts under his name. Nothin'. Seems his dad left him some money when he died, but he took everything out and closed the trust account when he turned 19." Luke face soured like the words he had just said tasted disgusting to him.

"So he could be anywhere," Jerry lamented, rubbing his face with his hands.

"And he's our guy," Sam added with determination in his voice the two hadn't heard in a while from Sam. "He has to be." He glanced up at Luke, who was nodding at his comment. "Do we have a last known photo of Aaron?"

Luke grimaced. "It's not a very good one, or recent one for that matter. It's from his last driver's license. Since the Ontario government implemented the holographic licenses that expire every five years, he hasn't renewed it. This one is from ten years ago."

Luke held up the black and white printed photo that looked more like a mug shot than a driver's license photo.

In the photo, Aaron Lyddle was roughly twenty-six years old. Shaggy, greasy-looking brown hair fell down his face and reached the bottoms of his ears, partially covering his high-set cheekbones. His eyes were empty and dead-looking, though the shape of them was unmistakably the same as Andy's. His mouth was drawn into what could only be described as a scowl.

The three men internally compared the man to the mental image they had of their friend, ex-fiancé, and girlfriend, and there was no question in any of their minds that this man was Andy's half-brother.

"Fuck. This is insane. Andy's long-lost brother is a fucking serial killer." Despite Jerry's overuse of the word 'fuck', he had put words to the exact thoughts Sam and Luke were thinking.

"We have to tell Best." Luke decided. "We need to find this asshole. He's in Toronto somewhere, probably already stalking his next victim."

"But why the hell is he here? Why did he come all the way from Kingston to kill these women who look eerily similar to Andy?" Jerry asked aloud, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer he'd get from his colleagues.

"He's sending a message. It's the only explanation. First, he lets Peel Regional discover the bones in a visible location in Mississauga. Then he begins his kill ritual with the ponytail cutting and the throat slicing and, in most cases, the brutal rape," Luke replied, watching Sam as he began pacing the length of the office silently. The men took a moment to let the information sink in before Sam spoke.

"He's coming after Andy next."

"Why do you say that?"

"Her dad's brakes got cut a month ago. He could have killed someone or himself, but thankfully he didn't. Cutting brakes isn't something someone does to play around; it was meant to get him killed. Then," Sam stopped, letting out a breath, "last night, I saw someone watching my house after Andy had gone to bed."

The mention of Andy in Sam's bed made Luke flinch, but he was so focused on the case that his thinking shifted back almost instantly. "You're kidding," Luke said.

Sam shook his head. "I went to grab my gun and approach him, but by the time I got outside, he was gone. I could swear that someone was watching me all of yesterday, too, but I originally chalked it up to drinking too much coffee. Seeing that guy crouched behind my truck proved that I wasn't going nuts, though. He's targeting the people in Andy's life, and women who look like her. My gut tells me I'm right."

"It makes sense," Jerry replied thoughtfully, "We definitely need to tell Best now. There is absolutely no question."

Sam knew he was right. Telling the rest of the coppers of 15 their findings would put more eyes watching the streets for this man who shared DNA with one of their own. But that meant that they had to first tell Andy about her long-lost brother.

"Not before telling Andy, though. She needs to know before the rest of the division does."

"I'll get dispatch to call her back, and Dov can pair up with Peck for the rest of the morning," Jerry stated, picking up the phone on his desk and dialing a few numbers.

Luke looked almost apologetically at Sam as he said, "I am not looking forward to this conversation."

Sam took a breath and frowned. "Neither am I."

* * *

><p>"Hey, guys. What's going on?" Andy asked as she stepped into Jerry's office, which had become Sam and Luke's unofficial headquarters. She saw Sam, Luke, and Jerry standing around the desk, all with strange, sad looks on their faces that Andy couldn't decipher. She raised an eyebrow and smirked. "What?"<p>

Sam had been volunteered to tell her the news. While it was harsh to hear it at all, the blow would be softened if she heard that she had a half-brother and that said brother was a psychopath who may be targeting her, from Sam.

At least the three men hoped.

"Andy, we need you to sit down."

Brows furrowed, she did as she was told, looking at each man curiously. "Okay…" she said, drawing out the word as she sat.

Sam perched himself on the edge of the desk in front of Andy. He wanted to just come out and say it; beating around the bush would help no one in this situation. But suddenly he felt as though he needed to be close to her when he delivered the news, so he moved off the desk and took the chair beside Andy, angling it toward her a little more before finally speaking.

"We've found out a few things. Things about your mom. She…uh…"

A thousand ideas began formulating in Andy's mind, but instead of saying what she thought, she let Sam continue. Maybe it wasn't as bad as she was dreading it was…

"Your mom and the Slasher definitely share DNA." Sam leaned closer to Andy, reaching for her hand. "She was the Slasher's mother. I'm so sorry, babe," Sam rushed out, holding her hand in an attempt to be reassuring. He had no idea how Andy would react to this, so he waited for her to make a move.

Except, she never did. No emotion, no anger, no sadness, nothing appeared on her face. It was as if he hadn't spoken. She was numb and in shock.

"Sweetheart, I—"

"How long have you known, Sam?" she asked quietly.

"Since last night. Luke, too. Jerry just found out today."

"That's what that whole scene was about last night at the Penny?" Andy looked up at Luke. "You wanted to tell me the truth?"

Sam brought her attention back to him before Luke could even put words into his opening mouth. "We needed to make absolutely sure before telling you."

Understanding, Andy nodded. She wasn't mad about being the last to find out. She knew a bombshell of this caliber needed to be thoroughly verified before being dropped on her. She would be lying to herself, though, if she didn't admit that it stung a little. Tears appeared in Andy's eyes, threatening to fall. "So I have a serial-killing brother. Did he kill my mother?"

"All the evidence points to that, yeah," Jerry spoke up in a more compassionate voice that the one he used when talking about murder victims to colleagues. This was personal for all of them at 15. "I'm sorry, Andy," he added, touching her shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

Andy leaned down to stare at the ground, elbows on her knees and palms covering her face, trying to reconcile all this information with what she had seen of the Yonge Street Slasher.

They had yet to relay to her their theory about Aaron coming after her next. Sam was already worried about Andy's state of being, but since the proverbial cat was out of the bag, he wasn't holding anything back. Not anymore.

"We think that you're in danger, Andy."

She looked up then, her face streaked with tears that had silently fallen down her face. "What? You think he's targeting me?" Her voice was so quiet that it had come out as a whisper of a question. Sensing her need for a reassuring touch, Sam rubbed her back in a slow circular motion and wiped her tears with his free hand.

It was finally Luke's time to speak. "His victims all had similar physical characteristics as you, Andy. All brunettes, fit, tanned, early twenties to early thirties. We think he may be killing women who look like you. Or, now that I think about it, women who look like your mother."

Andy looked back down at her hands, unable to speak. She had no idea what she was feeling. On one hand, there was relief that they had a break in the Yonge Street Slasher case. On the other hand, though, it came at the expense of her family and her very identity.

"Jerry," she said suddenly. "You have a picture of the Sla…of my brother?"

Wordlessly, Jerry slid the photo across his desk to her. She picked it up and studied it, noting the similarities she had originally seen in the artist's sketch weeks earlier. She saw her mother in his face. God help her, but she saw a bit of herself in his face, too. That scared her more than anything she'd ever seen or heard in her three years on the job.

She was staring into the eyes of her mother's killer, and saw herself reflected back at her.

* * *

><p>AN: Let me know what you think! :)


	12. Chapter 11 - Dealing With It

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except maybe a broken heart for all my McCollins fans out there after the season finale...

I sincerely apologize for the delay in posting this. I just haven't been feeling the writing vibe lately. HOWEVER, this chapter is extra long for everyone to enjoy...at least, if you're anything like me, you will!

***WARNING- Aaron strikes again in this chapter. If you don't want to read the implication of rape, please skip over that section. ***

* * *

><p>[Chapter 11]<p>

The next few hours after the shocking news had been delivered to Andy were quiet. Sergeant Best had allowed Andy the rest of the day off after they told him their findings. He recognized the magnitude of the news, and the impact it would have on the rest of her life; his coppers would manage without her for one day. Andy had agreed that it was smart to announce her connection to the Slasher in morning parade the next day, too, but she definitely was not looking forward to it. She knew all eyes would be on her, scrutinizing, judging, and most of all, pitying her.

Sam was told to drive Andy home before Sam returned to work—it had been a direct order from Best that Sam had been glad to carry out.

The ride home had been a silent one. Sam knew Andy's brain was working overtime with this revelation, and he didn't want to push her just yet. She needed time to process everything that was implied with the news.

When Sam pulled up to Andy's condo building, he cut the engine and turned towards his girlfriend, leaning slightly.

"You want me to come up with you? I can't stay too long, but—"

"I don't want anyone else dying because of me, Sam," Andy said quickly.

Sam inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and mentally preparing himself for what was going to be a heavy conversation. Of _course _Andy had come to the self-depricating conclusion that she was the cause of all the murders. Sam wasn't surprised considering how compassionate and humble Andy was under normal circumstances.

"Andy, this is **not** your fault. What Lyddle is doing is all on him. People leave their lovers all the time. That's no excuse to start butchering innocent women." Seeing the disbelieving look in Andy's sad eyes, he shifted closer to her in the cabin of the truck and reached for her hands, holding them securely in his. "Sweetheart, you are **not **to blame for your half-brother's killing spree. You hear me? This is all his fault. You have nothing to do with all those women's deaths."

Andy closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the headrest behind her, exhaling a long breath of frustration. A stream of tears trailed down her cheeks, which broke Sam's heart. He cupped her cheek and brushed one of the streams of tears away with the pad of his thumb gently. After a few silent moments of contemplation, Andy breathed deeply and opened her eyes, staring intently at Sam.

"I want to draw him out. If he's in Toronto because of me and his crazy vendetta against me, then I should be used as bait to lure him out."

Sam shook his head vehemently. "No way, Andy. You're not going anywhere near him on purpose."

"You can't sit there and tell me that he's just going to stop killing one of these days—that he's going to just move on. What if I can prevent more women from being killed because they have the misfortune of sort of looking like me? Shouldn't I do all I can to stop him?"

Sam leaned closer to Andy and held her face in his hands. "You will, by helping the investigation along. You are not going to be put in harm's way, Andy." Sam blew out a breath and pressed his forehead to hers. "I can't stand the thought of you being in danger unnecessarily."

Andy smirked. "That's every day, Sam. I'm a cop, remember?"

"I know, smartass," he chuckled then sobered, closing his eyes, "but if something happened to you because of your psychopath brother, I couldn't live with myself knowing I couldn't protect you."

Andy sighed and ran her hands down Sam's strong arms soothingly. "I'll be fine, Sam. We'll get him before he gets anywhere near me."

Sam refused to tell her about his suspicion that Lyddle had been watching his townhouse, so instead, he grabbed Andy around the shoulders and embraced her as best he could while seated in the truck's cabin. After a moment, Sam released Andy and kissed her deeply before exiting the truck and walking her to her condo.

Once she was safely inside her condo, he strode back to his truck, pulling out his cell as he went. He dialed Sergeant Best's office and was answered in two rings.

"Boss, I need protective detail on Andy, but I know she won't accept it."

Sam heard Frank sigh over the phone. "I was thinking the same thing. She's too proud."

"Can we put an officer on her at a distance until we get Lyddle?"

"Well, how about you?"

"Me?" Sam was confused.

"Yeah, Sam. Who better to protect her than someone who has a vested interest in her safety?"

"So, what, we'll be partnered together…"

"Unless you have an objection to that?" Frank countered.

"No, Frank. Sounds good."

"Good. Until further notice, you two are partnered together. Let's catch this sonofabitch."

* * *

><p>Andy locked the door securely behind Sam as he went off to start his shift, and went into the kitchen for a glass of Sunny D. She poured the glass of juice, her mind a complete blank. It had been blank and thoughtless since she had set foot in her condo. She was forcing her mind to stop racing a mile a minute, and for once it was actually working.<p>

That is, until Tommy stirred in the spare bedroom a few feet away from her.

"Andy? That you, kiddo?"

Instantly, she had a million more thoughts and questions flooding her mind, all of them directed at Tommy.

"Yeah, it's me, Dad."

Some shuffling was heard before Tommy came out of the room slowly. His broken leg was nearly healed, but he still used a crutch to get around the condo.

"I thought you were on shift today," Tommy commented as he took a seat on the couch and reached for the remote control. As he sat, he glanced at his daughter briefly.

Before he could press the button to turn the television on, Andy said, "Did you ever suspect Mom had been with someone else before you?" Her words stopped him dead in his tracks. Tommy sighed.

"I knew, yeah. She told me about him the night she told me she was pregnant with you." He silently wondered what had brought this line of questioning on, but knew almost immediately why.

"Detective Barber got the results back, huh?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Andy reached the couch and sank down beside him, letting out a breath. "Yup. I have a half-brother who is out there murdering innocent women who look like Mom and me. Fun morning I've had."

Tommy shook his head sadly. "I'm so sorry, honey." Wrapping an arm around his daughter, he pulled her close enough for her to lean her head on his shoulder. While it was comforting for Andy, it was strange because rarely had she ever found herself leaning on her father when times were tough.

They were silent for a few moments, enjoying their closeness before Andy spoke. "His name is Aaron Lyddle. He would have been about six or so when I was born."

"Do they have a picture of him?"

"Yeah, they're releasing the photo tomorrow morning after the department is briefed."

"Do you know if the media is going to be mentioning your connection to him?" Tommy asked, worried about what damage that knowledge might do in the wrong hands.

"Sergeant Best assured me that it's not necessary to drag our family history or our relation to Aaron into it. They will mention that the victims all had similar characteristics, so that women who have the misfortune of looking like me will watch out."

Tommy scoffed and hugged his daughter a bit tighter. "I know that tone. You better not be blaming yourself for this monster's actions. It's not your fault."

She breathed out loudly. "Sam said the same thing, and logically, I know that, but it's hard to tell yourself that you aren't to blame for nine deaths when the reason they were killed was because they look like you. Well, I guess I should say that they look like Mom, not me."

"You look so much like your mother, Andy. It's partially the reason I was absent so often when you were growing up. Looking at you reminded me of what I lost when she left us. Looking back on it, I realize that it's a shitty reason, but it's mine, and I will never be able to apologize enough for it. I missed out on so much and made you grow up so quickly because of my own stupidity and childishness."

Andy stewed on that for a moment before nodding slowly. "Being here is a good start, Dad. Thanks."

The two sat like that, Tommy with his arm around his daughter and Andy resting her head on his shoulder, for well over five minutes, in comfortable silence. When the silence was broken—by Andy, of course—she found that there were tears in her eyes.

"I always wanted a sibling. Not like this, though."

Tommy frowned. "I know, honey. I wish I had known he was out there. Maybe we could have done something to prevent all of this from happening. You could have grown up together, been friends."

"Things don't always work out for the best, Dad. Would you have forgiven Mom if she had told you that she had a kid somewhere out there?"

Tommy was pensive for a second before responding without reservation. "Yes, absolutely. I loved your mother unconditionally. I would have done just about anything for her, even help to raise another man's child if she had let me know about his existence."

It was in that moment that Andy realized just how in love her father had been with her mother, and how much her departure, however it had happened, had affected him. He had never been an overly affectionate parent, nor was he very verbose, but he loved intensely and quickly—much like Andy did.

"I love you, Dad."

Slightly surprised at Andy's response, Tommy stumbled before replying quietly, "I love you, too, Andy. I'm sorry you're going through this, kid, but I know you'll come out on top. Us McNallys may get knocked down, but we get back up again."

Andy couldn't help the chortle that escaped her lips. "Chumbawumba, Dad? Really?"

Tommy laughed, but only because Andy had just laughed. "What's a Chumbawumba?"

* * *

><p>That night, chilly and breezy as winter nights tended to be, found Aaron roaming the streets in search of someone to take his rage out on. Since he had killed the dollar store owner a few nights prior, he had been holed up in his apartment. Despite the rush and relief he had felt during the act, he now felt a kind of remorse for killing the man—he had had nothing to do with his vendetta against his half-sister for fucking up his life. He didn't resemble her or her whore of a mother in the slightest, yet Aaron had needed to kill someone, anyone, and there he had been. A crime of opportunity, but not one that he was particularly proud of.<p>

As those feelings of remorse crept into his thoughts, he began feeling uneasy about being out on the streets; as if somehow everyone knew he had murdered a man in cold blood. It had never bothered him before, but then again, he had never killed a man before.

That evening, as he finally stepped out of his apartment for the first time in days, he pulled his collar up over his cheeks to shield him from the bitter cold and breathed a sigh of relief. He knew his previous thoughts were ludicrous; no one knew who he was or what his mission in Toronto was. He was simply a man walking down the street with no ill-intention. The blast of winter air on his face was a cleansing agent to his emotions – he once again felt free to carry out his plans.

And he had many of those.

Especially for Andy.

He knew he wanted to carry out a few more kills and revel in the sensation of his blade slicing through a major artery a few more times before it was used one last time on his half-sister and he moved onto a new city.

Even though he had followed Sam Swarek around for a whole day and had originally wanted to take him out first to make Andy suffer, he had recently decided against it. Knowing what he had learned about the police officer, he had a strong feeling that had he pursued him any longer, Sam would eventually have figured out that he was being watched and would have tightened his hold on Andy in the process of protecting himself.

The two were almost inseparable. Where Sam would go, Andy was usually close behind, and vice versa, unless they were on the job. He had noticed that their partnerings were never the same two days in a row and that they weren't always paired together. Aaron knew that if he wanted any shot at Andy alone, he'd have to get her while she was paired with another officer. All he needed was a few more days and he'd have everything in place to make that happen, and lure Andy away from her partner.

But first, he'd need to kill again. The burning need hadn't fully subsided since he'd killed the Chinese store owner, but he decided that he'd be more selective when choosing his next victim than the last one.

After having walked on Adelaide for an hour and not spotting anyone who may have fit the description he was looking for, he decided to turn around and walk back down the street towards Spadina. Wrapped in his thoughts, he didn't notice the brunette barrelling toward him in a rush. His shoulder bumped hers, making her spill the Second Cup coffee she had in her hand. As the coffee tumbled to the ground, Aaron let his eyes lock onto the clearly embarrassed woman before him. _She is perfect. _

"I'm so sorry," The girl muttered as she searched her oversized purse for something to clean the coffee with; some of her beverage had dripped onto Aaron's jacket as it had plummetted to the ground. The girl was roughly 5'5", petite and pretty. Luck was on his side tonight: the icing on the cake was that she wore her hair up in a ponytail.

She was obviously flustered and late for some appointment, despite the hour of night. "I'm really late. Should have been home a half hour ago. My dad's gonna kill me! I'm really sorry about this mess! I'll pay for the dry cleaning-"

Aaron chose that moment to turn on his "charm". He raised his hand and smiled politely.

"It's not necessary. This is an old jacket anyway. But let me walk you home," he suggested, motioning towards the direction she was originally headed. She seemed to think about it momentarily before nodding and smiling in a relieved way.

"Sure, I'm over by York Street," she replied, starting to walk beside Aaron towards her home. "Thanks for being so understanding. I'm such a clutz."

Aaron chuckled quietly. "It's a happy coincidence that such a pretty girl ran into me."

As the young woman smiled demurely, Aaron couldn't help the grin that grew in response to her reaction to him. The direction in which they were walking led to a darker street with an even darker alley Aaron knew well enough to know that it would be the best place to end this girl's life. A person who believed in all of that serendipity-destiny-fate bullshit would have called it just that. But Aaron knew that in this life, people made their own luck and destiny. Perhaps he could even carry out the rest of his ritual that he'd been forced to forego with his last few kills…

"So, what's your name?" the girl asked, turning her head towards Aaron as they walked.

Aaron hesitated briefly—this girl would be dead in an hour, so telling her his real name wouldn't harm him. He smiled, replying, "Aaron. You?"

"Cynthia." She returned his smile.

"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," Aaron said, feeling the bile rise up in his throat at the empty compliment. Sure, she was pretty, but he was never one to pay women compliments, let alone one who reminded him of his whore mother, which made her unworthy to even be smiled at in his dark, twisted mind. When he saw the blush creep up over her cheeks, he felt a sense of relief, knowing that his fake compliment had paid off and he had her just where he wanted her.

The two walked side by side towards the girl's home, Aaron's gloved hands safely tucked away in his jacket pockets while Cynthia's flew animatedly this way and that as she told a story about something that Aaron pretended to care about. After a few minutes of mindless banter, the two found themselves walking further and further away from the prying eyes of other pedestrians and passersby, which thrilled Aaron immensely; it wouldn't be long before he was on top of her, getting what he wanted from her body, as the life drained out of her by way of the deep slit in her throat.

As they approached the alley Aaron knew was coming up before them, he gently touched her shoulder to stop her from moving forward. Puzzled, she looked at him.

"Cynthia, I'm having such a nice time with you tonight. I'm so glad I met you."

He could see that the poor girl was flattered and so excited about all the possibilities he had just opened up between them with those words. It was too bad that her rose-coloured future was never going to come true.

Aaron smiled, leaning toward her as he gripped his trusty hunting blade in his pocket. "Can I hug you?" he asked shyly, to which Cynthia responded by nodding vigorously.

He slipped his hands out of his pockets, holding his knife carefully out of view, and wrapped his arms around the girl's waist in a simulated hug. Cynthia reciprocated the hug genuinely, not realizing that Aaron's knife was about to plunge into her back.

With one last deft look around to ensure there was no one around, he took a step towards the alley, pulling her with him, and took her surprise as his chance to sink his blade into her back. The scream that followed was brief—he covered her mouth with his in the guise of a lover surprising his lady. As he pulled the knife out of its human sheath, he pulled her further down the alley way and allowed her to drop to the dirty ground like a sack of potatoes. She was fading fast; he must have severed something very important. He had to move quickly if he wanted to complete his ritual.

In an instant, he was kneeling over her, using the same blade he had just used to dispatch her, to slice the hair off of her head. Once he put the hair in his pocket, he set to work to satisfy his strange need to penetrate her as she was dying. As he did, he found no struggle from her; no calls for help, no defensive swatting, and definitely no hope in her eyes.

He finished a minute later, and was lucky enough to be just in time to watch the gleam in her eyes that indicated life, fade. That was his favourite part of the kill.

He fixed himself up, zipping his fly and brushing the snow off his pants. He turned and gave one last look at the body he was leaving behind him, feeling satisfied.

Leaving the security of the dark alleyway, he shoved his hands back into his pockets and started walking briskly back towards his apartment to continue planning how he would execute his baby sister with a renewed sense of purpose.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Sam leaned against the wall at the back of the parade room, knowing full well what was coming. This morning, Sergeant Best was going to tell the officers that Andy and Aaron Lyddle were related by blood, and he knew that there would be a lot of pity glances and uncomfortable questions for Andy to answer after the fact. He just hoped she had mentally prepared herself for what was to come. He would be there for her the entire day, seeing as how they were now partnered together until further notice, but he could only comfort Andy so much while on duty…<p>

Andy was sitting at her usual seat in the parade room, beside Gail, concentrating on her breathing and trying to remember that her colleagues needed to know what Frank was about to tell them. She had to put it out of her mind that this was personal information; once he had started to put the general public in danger while exacting his revenge, finding out everything they could about him was a top priority. So what if Frank was about to air some of Andy's family's dirty laundry? Who cared if this information was about to make all her colleagues question her ability to concentrate on the job? What did it matter if the meer existence of a long-lost half-brother insinuated that her mother was a tramp? _This is a matter of public safety_, Andy reminded herself. She knew everything she was thinking was true, but it was difficult to swallow, even coming from she herself.

Sam was brought out of his thoughts by Sergeant Best striding towards the podium at the front of the room carrying a file folder in his hands. Detective Barber followed closely behind him, carrying his own file folder and looking slightly anxious. Sergeant Best rested his file on the podium and peered out towards his officers.

"Morning, everyone. We only have one piece of business today, and that relates to the Yonge Street Slasher." Frank began his sentence strong, but it was obvious to every officer in parade that morning that he was nervous to continue his thought. He glanced at Andy and looked back up at his coppers, clearing his throat. "We have confirmed through DNA evidence that this man," he paused to put the only known photo of Aaron Lyddle on the board, "Aaron Lyddle, is the Yonge Street Slasher."

The room began to buzz quietly as the officers whispered to themselves. Sergeant Best cleared his throat, willing the room to stop chattering while he related the rest of the information.

Gerry stepped forward and began reading off a list of Aaron's physical attributes. "He's 36, white, about 5'9. He was born in Kingston. He hasn't had a job in over seven years. No credit cards, no up-to-date driver's license, picture health card, nothing. His last known address puts him in Kingston well over ten years ago. This is the last known photo we have on file for him from his now-expired driver's license."

Frank stopped to prepare himself to deliver the most shocking of the information to his officers.

"His father died of pancreatic cancer back in '94."

"Any other family?" one of the officers called out.

Gerry was about to answer that when Frank stepped in.

"Yes. We have confirmed that he is Officer McNally's half-brother. We suspect that he is responsible for the death of his and Officer McNally's mother, Carol." Frank looked at Andy, who had somehow managed to remain stoic as he had spoken.

Andy could feel all eyes suddenly focusing directly at her. Instead of meeting any of their gazes, she looked right at Frank and Gerry at the front of the room. She sat in her chair looking incredibly tense and emotionless. Gerry decided to continue to take back the attention.

"We also believe that he is targeting young women who bear some resemblance to his mother and Officer McNally." He pulled a large photo of Carol McNally's smiling face and stuck it beside Aaron's photo for comparison. In it, she looked to be about thirty-five. It was a photo that Andy knew well—Andy had clutched it tightly in her hand every night for three years after her mother 'left'. When it had become obvious that she was never coming back, she had tucked the photo away in her copy of _Great Expectations _by Charles Dickens and had pushed the book, and with it all thoughts of her mother, to the back of her mind. Recently, she had remembered the location of the photo and had decided to add it to her grave marker. The original had remained in her wallet ever since.

While the similarities between Aaron and his mother were noticeable, what was most striking was how much Andy looked like her mother. It was obvious that every single officer in the room was thinking that exact same thing, comparing Andy's face with the victim's photo staring back at them on the board before them.

"We have released Lyddle's picture to the media this morning and it'll be all over the news in a few hours. We don't know where he's residing, or how he's getting around, but we know that of his nine victims, seven were killed within a five kilometre radius from Yonge and Dundas."

"We need everyone to be cautious and vigilant. Now that we know what this bastard looks like, it's time to find him and bring him in. So, serve, protect, and let's get this murderer off our streets. Dismissed."

As the officers rose from their chairs, Andy's close friends filtered through the crowd toward her. Tracy was the first to reach Andy and hug her close. Chris and Dov patted her on the back silently—they had no idea what sort of sentiment they should convey. _Sorry you have a murderous bastard for a half-brother_ just didn't seem to work in this situation. Gail frowned and touched Andy's arm briefly in her own form of compassion. Sam was right behind the group, ready to jump in and grab his partner if the questions got too intense, but luckily the friends and colleagues had all appreciated the sensitivity of the situation and hadn't pushed or said more than a few words of understanding.

"Alright, McNally, let's go," Sam called. Andy nodded and told Tracy she'd call her after their shifts.

Once in the squad car, Sam looked over to his girlfriend with slight concern. "You ok, McNally?"

She took a deep breath and let it out, turning to look Sam right in the eye. Sam read her look as one of determination. It was the version of Andy who had tackled him while he was undercover, the eager rookie full of resolve who would stop at nothing to get the collar. It was the Andy that had first caught his attention and had turned his world upside down, the one he had first fallen in love with before he realized that all facets of this woman were amazing.

"I won't be until we have my brother in the back of our squad. That, or in a body bag at the morgue."

He smirked, turned the squad car on, and began driving the two of them towards their first call of the day, confident that, given enough time, Andy would survive this crisis.

She just had to.


	13. Chapter 12: Tactical Retreat

Disclaimer: I only own my feeling of envy every time I watch Andy kiss Sam in the show.

I'm so pleased that this story has gotten such a great response from everyone. We're about two chapters away from the end. I have much of the final chapter written, but I need to write the chapter in between!

I haven't personally been to the Coffee Time on the Esplanade, so please allow me a bit of creative license. Oh, and if you recognize any names in this chapter, know that I love you, and that's why they were used! Beijinhos! Bissous! :)

_(I must warn you that Aaron is just insane, so the things that come out of his mouth or brain are not what normal, rational people say or do. I am not personally insane, so I have no idea whether crazy people do these things. I will assume they do since TV has taught me a LOT. I also don't have a psychology degree, so I will be skimming past certain details about getting seeing a psychiatrist.)_

* * *

><p>[Chapter 12]<p>

The Coffee Time donuts on The Esplanade was the best place for Aaron to sit and gather his thoughts before heading back to his apartment after he had just killed that girl, _what was her name?_ Cynthia, he remembered. Yes, that was it. He sat in the back of the coffee shop, sipping a small tea that he bought to be able to sit in the shop, thinking about how gratifying it had been to sink his blade into the unsuspecting girl's back, and watch as the light in her eyes faded because of his actions. A smile crept onto his face at the thought, and the next thought that followed—he couldn't wait to do the same to Andy, though he would take a lot more time with her than he had with Cynthia or any of his other kills. She deserved misery, torture, and hopeless hours of uncertainty before her end came. For everything her existence had caused him, Aaron wanted her to pay dearly.

And she would. He knew where he wanted to do it, and how. He now had to decide when it would be best to carry out his plan. And he needed to make sure that she was separated from Sam Swarek.

Everything was in place, so the moment he saw they were apart, he would strike.

"Oh my God! Look! They've finally ID'd the Slasher! Helen, turn it up!" Aaron heard the excited voice of another Coffee Time patron say to the cashier and point to the old television hanging from the ceiling, which was set to CP24, the local twenty-four hour news station. Aaron's head instantly turned up to see what the commotion was about, and he saw a reporter sitting at a desk, with the headline 'YONGE STREET SLASHER SUSPECT IDENTIFIED' in bold letters. When the cashier complied with the request to raise the volume, Aaron and the other six people in the shop heard with perfect clarity the rest of the news report.

"Breaking news; Police Sergeant Frank Best from 15 Division held a short press conference this morning for the media to release the photo of the Yonge Street Slasher suspect, Aaron Lyddle. He is described as a 36 year old Caucasian male, medium build, standing at 5'9."

The only known photo of Aaron Lyddle flashed upon the screen.

Aaron's jaw dropped and he cursed quietly at the sight. He felt heat rising up his neck and radiating throughout his body, and almost instantly he felt sick to his stomach.

How the _hell _had they figured this out so quickly? He had been subtly trying to send a message to Andy, but he never dreamed that he had provided the police with enough evidence for them to identify him. Apparently, he hadn't given the TPS enough credit.

He knew the photo was over ten years old, but he hadn't changed his appearance _that _much. His face still looked the same, only a tad bit older. He still wore his hair exactly the same way, and its length was only slightly longer than in the photo.

It would only take someone looking at him a moment too long for them to positively match him to this photo.

He needed to get the hell out of this coffee shop _now, _and avoid being seen by these patrons. He rose from his seat, pulled his jacket up to shield his face from the brisk morning air, and slid past the wide-eyed customers, whose attentions were still with the news report on the screen.

He took the shortest shortcut he could to get back to his apartment, looking over his shoulder every so often to make sure no one had spotted him. He snuck into the apartment building without passing any of the other tenants, which happened all the time. It was as if no one else lived in that building with him, but he didn't mind. In fact, he loved that he never saw his neighbours. He liked thinking that he had the building all to himself.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he found himself sitting on his bed with his door locked behind him.

He went over to the television set and turned it on. It was immediately alight with the press conference that had initially sent him running back to his apartment like a coward, since that was the only channel he ever watched. The only reason he even owned a television was for him to see how his kills were being shown and reported. The other drivel that passed for entertainment was of no consequence to him and his mission to dispose of Andy.

He scowled at the thought of his return to his apartment; he knew that he wasn't a coward, though his subconscious had just used the word to describe himself. It had been a tactical retreat. He had never been this close to detection before, so the initial thought he had had was to run and regroup.

Feeling the sudden need for violence, and to take out his anger at his identification, he rose from the bed and walked over to the opposite wall, where he moved forward and bashed his head against it in an act any rational person would consider absolutely insane. To Aaron, though, this was a relieving pain. The one hit was enough to cause a gash to form on his forehead and blood to trickle down his brow and into his right eye. He wiped the blood with the back of his hand and wiped his hand on his black pants. Since he didn't have running water in this place, he would have to make do with this. The hit to his head satisfied his need for pain—it took his mind temporarily off the current situation involving the TPS.

Even with the gash in his forehead still dribbling blood, he walked back to his bed and laid down, arms under his head and eyes wide open staring at the ceiling, relishing the pain from the cut. He needed to figure out what his next step was, now that the police knew who he was and what he looked like.

As hard as it was for him to admit after watching the news report on television, he knew that he had to lie low for a while. Sadly, that meant that his urges to kill had to be quelled for the time being. He would let Andy grow complacent and lull her and the rest of the city into a false sense of security before reminding them that he was still there and ready to strike again. He knew that this could take weeks, even months, but he would have to live with that reality until he felt it was safe again for him to carry out the last step of his plan.

In most things, he wasn't always a patient man, but when it came to Andrea McNally, he knew that he'd enjoy his plan if it wasn't rushed or carried out poorly. It was pretty safe to say that his plan was ready to initiate, but this development would delay things considerably.

_No matter,_ he thought with a broad smile, the blood still running down his temple. _My final kill will be well worth it. _

* * *

><p>The body of twenty-two year old Cynthia Jane Leek was found a few hours after the press conference had been held, making her victim number nine. The grisly discovery was made by a passerby on his way to work that morning. Within minutes of the 911 call, the alley and surrounding area were swarming with squad cars, Coroner's vehicles, and City TV and CTV news vans. The city was back on high alert, and the media did their very best to broadcast the photo of Aaron Lyddle at any available interval, even going so far as to airing a fifteen-second commercial with the photo between their normal commercial line-up, something that had never been done in Toronto before. Within twenty-four hours of the photo being released, there wasn't a person in the Greater Toronto Area who had not seen it or who wasn't keeping an eye out for this mysterious, deadly man.<p>

As the news of the break in the case spread, Sam felt his need to keep Andy close to him increase. Best hadn't mentioned to Andy that he had essentially given her a personal bodyguard in constantly pairing her with Sam, but it was quite clear that he had done so since she had never been Sam's partner for more than a few shifts in a row before. To her, it was slightly unnerving that Best would do such a thing, as if he wasn't fully confident in her ability to protect herself, but she knew it was done because he (and the rest of the division) worried about her in light of the case, so she couldn't stay mad about it. In fact, she was grateful because she always enjoyed being partnered with Sam, even before their relationship turned romantic.

Andy couldn't help the feeling of anxiety that consumed her whenever she thought about her brother and what he had been doing since he'd come to Toronto. She was used to arresting murderers and psychopaths, but somehow the fact that this particular psychopath had the same blood flowing through his veins that she did, struck a strange nerve in her. The thought of someone related to her being a criminal disgusted her, but scared her even more. She knew she wasn't capable of that sort of unspeakable evil, but the question of 'what if' whispered to her more than once. What if she had had the same upbringing that Aaron had had? What if her mother had left her when she was practically a child still? Would she still have become a police officer, or would she have gone down a different path, one that led her to a life of crime as her brother clearly had?

Two weeks after Cynthia Leek's body was found, Andy found her mind running a mile a minute with these exact questions as Sam drove them to a B & E call in the West Village. Noticing how quiet Andy had become, Sam reached over and held Andy's gloved hand over the console, startling her out of whatever thoughts she was having at the moment.

"What's going through that beautiful head of yours?"

Andy sighed and looked over at her partner. "Aaron."

"Andy," Sam said in a gentle but warning tone.

"I just…I wonder what would have happened if…"

"Nothing. You need to stop worrying yourself over the hypotheticals, babe. You are as much a product of your environment as you are of your nature," Sam said, his eyes never leaving the road in front of him. The two of them had discussed her feelings before, so he was all too familiar with Andy's nagging inner monologue that constantly compared her to her half-brother. His tone was gentle, despite how aggravating this conversation was becoming. It seemed she was always pensive these days, running through worst-case scenarios in her mind. When Sam noticed it, he tried everything to snap her out of it, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so without repeating himself or getting angry at the whole situation.

It was becoming clear to him that she needed to speak to a professional to work through her feelings. After a traumatic event, officers were made to speak to a psychiatrist before being cleared to return to work, and he of all people knew how much officers hated being forced to do just that, but he knew Andy wasn't getting anywhere with these thoughts. He knew she was having a difficult time keeping it together. He figured now was the time to bring it up, for both their sakes.

Sam made a left into an empty parking lot used mainly by officers running speed traps along Lakeshore just under the Gardiner Expressway, and parked the car. Brows furrowed, Andy looked at Sam.

"Why'd you park?"

Sam leaned slightly toward her and took a deep breath. "You need to talk to someone, Andy."

"I'm talking to you, Sam."

"No, a professional. A shrink."

Andy was instantly defensive, her body moving her against the door of the car as far away from Sam as it could get. "I don't need to talk to anybody. I'm fine. I'm just…"

When Andy faltered and closed her eyes, Sam pulled her hand closer to him and gripped it in a show of support and love. "You're just living in your own head. You think about Lyddle all the time. You are always comparing yourself to him, comparing your childhoods, always questioning yourself. It's not healthy, babe. It's natural to be on edge, but this is getting out of hand. You aren't yourself. I need the old, chatty Andy back. I miss her." Sam cupped Andy's face lovingly, forcing her to look at him. "I love you, Andy. So much. Seeing you like this is killing me because I can't do anything to help you."

"You _are _helping me, Sam. You listen to me, you worry along with me."

"But there's only so much I can do or tell you. I'm not a professional, Andy, but I really think that speaking to the precinct's psychiatrist will do you good. Please, Andy. For me," Sam pleaded, stressing his last words and knowing that she could deny him nothing, so long as it was reasonable.

Andy was silent for a moment before finally nodding, letting out a breath. "Ok," she said quietly. Relieved, Sam kissed her forehead and pulled her into a hug.

"Thank you, Andy," he mumbled into her neck.

"Thank you for caring about me."

Sam pulled back and looked at Andy's face, a serious expression on his face. "That's the easiest part of my day, Andy. You're my life, you know. Loving you is second nature. I think I loved you from the moment you tackled me and tried to kiss me," Sam said in the most serious tone he could muster, in spite of the reference to their first meeting, which always caused them to laugh. Andy smiled and rolled her eyes at his mention of it, but did not interrupt. Sam continued with a passionate look in his eye.

"You're it for me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. When this is all over, and we catch that bastard, I'm going to follow through with that statement. That's a promise, Andy."

Sam had just spelled out how strongly he felt for her and where they were headed together, which made her forget all of the previous thoughts invading her mind. She wanted it all with him, too—the wedding, the house, the family, the happy ending. To hear it come out of his mouth made her vast vocabulary momentarily escape her. Instead of a verbose sentiment of gratitude or reciprocation, all that came from her mouth was 'Ok' before she leaned in and kissed him with a passion they were unaccustomed to feeling in their squad car. He knew she wanted the same things; no words were needed from her since her lips and brief moans of pleasure told him everything he needed to know.

A moment passed before they both remembered that they were on duty. They pulled away from each other, hands still firmly grasped together, and smiled.

"Love you, Sam."

"Ditto, babe," Sam replied, sweeping a stray hair from Andy's face. "Now let's get to the scene before Ollie sends out a search party."

* * *

><p>It had also been four weeks since Andy had learned that she had a half-brother. At the request of her boyfriend and partner, she had begun seeing a psychiatrist every Tuesday and Friday two weeks after to discuss how she was handling the knowledge that the Yonge Street Slasher was her half-brother. She had to admit that her sessions were going well. There were days when she was absolutely drained after having talked at length about her thoughts and comparisons between her and her brother, or her mother's disappearance and murder, but things were looking up.<p>

Sam began to see a positive change in Andy soon after her sessions started with Dr. Lori Beth Emrith, the precinct's psychiatrist on call. He noticed that she was acting more like herself again. She was almost back to normal, despite those nagging thoughts at the back of her mind about her Slasher brother. It gave Sam hope that she was getting better equipped to deal with everything and they could begin to move forward. He had even spoken to her psychiatrist a few times, inquiring about her progress. While Dr. Emrith had maintained the strictest of patient-doctor confidentiality, she confirmed Sam's belief that Andy was showing great signs of improvement.

Winter was coming to an end, and the sun was already setting later with each passing day. The warmer temperatures brought with them a renewed sense of hope. Spring was just around the corner. It was obvious that the winter had been exceptionally long for all Torontonians with the threat of the Yonge Street Slasher still looming over them. He hadn't been heard from or seen since his photo was released to the public all those weeks ago.

It had been eight long weeks since Aaron Lyddle's face had become synonymous with the serial killer's moniker, the Yonge Street Slasher. Since the photo had been released, no sightings of the man had been confirmed, though Torontonians had been calling Crime Stoppers with hundreds of tips and reports of men who matched the description of the Yonge Street Slasher; none had actually panned out.

Despite the lack of leads on Aaron Lyddle, Sam remained close to Andy, still being partnered with her every common shift they shared. Frank had thought it best to not change the partnerings, even though it had been so long since another Slasher victim had been found.

However, with Andy's newfound feeling of confidence and relief over her relation to Aaron Lyddle (stemming from her sessions with Dr. Emrith), she started feeling less and less like she needed a bodyguard. By the eighth week of silence on the Slasher front, Andy was complaining to Frank on a near daily basis about the importance of switching her partnerships up every few shifts. She loved Sam deeply, but she just didn't feel like she needed to be watched or babysat any longer. Her pride and capability as a police officer were at stake for her. After a few well-worded debates, Frank reluctantly agreed, but cautioned Andy to remain aware and careful. Sam hadn't been too pleased with this change in their partnerships. His cynical side told him that this was far too soon to feel secure and safe from the Yonge Street Slasher; Aaron was still out there and ready to strike at any given moment. But Andy was tired of feeling like she was a china doll that could break if not properly watched and supervised, so Sam begrudgingly agreed to the partner changes.

Her first shift without Sam was bittersweet for Andy. She was glad to be working with Chris again, but she missed her boyfriend. She knew that she had brought this separation upon herself, so she thought it best not to complain too much about it, especially to Sam.

After her shift, Sam was waiting to take her back to his townhouse where he was planning on making dinner for her. After she changed into her street clothes, she and Sam walked hand in hand out of the precinct and to his truck.

When they arrived at his townhouse, Andy set her duffle bag down and toed off her boots while Sam headed to the kitchen to start on dinner. Once her jacket and scarf were hung up in the closet, she went to Sam and kissed him gently on the cheek before setting to help Sam with dinner.

Once dinner was ready and the two sat to eat, something that had been nagging at Sam all day finally made itself known. He cleared his throat and put his fork down. Andy looked up from her meal and smiled, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"How was your day today?" he asked, more chipper than usual for such a mundane question.

"Uh, good. Chris and I handed out a bunch of speeding tickets. Then we had a call on John St. A guy attacked his girlfriend with a hammer. Luckily she locked herself in her bedroom and called us. We got there just as the guy was getting through the door. What about you?"

"Oh, you know, the same old stuff. Took the truck in for an oil change, got some groceries, went to the bank." He threw her an expectant glance.

"The bank? Why?" She knew his aversion to standing in line at the bank to deal with a teller, so the mention of the bank—and not an ATM machine—was a bit odd for him.

Sam took a breath before saying, "I wanted to see what the policy was if I was to change the terms of the mortgage on this place."

"Change the terms? Why? You don't want to sell the place, do you?" Andy asked, a bit confused. After all, he had spent the better part of two years making this townhouse his own and adding value to it. Why would he sell it now?

Sam smirked, raising a hand. "No, no, not at all. In fact, I'm hoping to stay longer. But I wanted to see how I would go about it if I were to, say, add someone to the mortgage." Sam had started out confident, but as the thought came out, his volume and tone decreased as if he was expecting Andy to freak out when she realized what he was talking about.

Andy's mind immediately clicked into what he was saying, though she hated assuming. She decided to play it cool. "Oh, really," she said with a knowing grin. "Anyone I know?"

Sam chuckled and nodded, his expression suddenly serious again.

"You, Andy. Move in with me." He reached over the platter of food between them and held Andy's hand. "I love you, and I hate seeing you leave this house. I hate leaving you at all. I want to make this house _our house_. Please, Andy. Live with me." He was not one to beg, but Andy could swear there was a hint of desperation in his voice.

There was no question in Andy's mind; they had been dating for over six months, they were great together, and she, too, hated when he left her condo. Besides, it was the next logical step towards what they both knew they wanted out of life; each other.

"This doesn't have anything to do with Aaron, does it? Protecting me and all…"

Sam frowned. "That's part of the reason, but honestly, I just want you here with me." He stroked the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand slowly. "I know the timing might suck, but I've always wanted this to be your home. What better time than now? What do you say?"

Andy nodded. "Yes. Of course."

* * *

><p>Aaron had been exceptionally good at hiding his face in the winter, but now that spring was coming, the presence of a winter jacket and toque would add more suspicion than not. So instead of relying on head coverings to conceal his identity, he had taken a pair of scissors to his hair and stolen a box of hair dye from a local dollar store to change his appearance enough to be unrecognizable at first glance.<p>

Now sporting short black hair just past his earlobes, he used the darkness of night to conceal his position near the townhouse her half-sister's boyfriend lived. He hadn't actually followed them or watched them for some time, though he knew that if she wasn't at home, she was at his house.

He stepped closer to the house, trying to peer through the window he knew to be the closest to the kitchen, and dropped to a knee. He gathered himself closer to the window so that he could hear what was being said. It was a jumble of murmurs and white noise, but one sentence came through very clearly; _move in with me_.

_Fuck_, he thought. _If she moved in with him, it would be damn near impossible to get her alone_.

He squinted through the window. Though there was a curtain draped there, it was sheer enough that he could make out Andy and Sam hugging. He surmised that they were celebrating her acceptance of his proposal.

Aaron cursed again and stalked away from the house towards his apartment.

It appeared that he'd have to move forward with his plans tomorrow sooner than he thought. He shuddered in what he could describe as delight with the prospect that everything he'd been working towards would come to fruition sooner than he had originally planned.

_Tomorrow night, _he thought. _Tomorrow night will be her last night on earth. _


	14. Chapter 13: Making Plans

Disclaimer: I only own my heartbreak for all McCollins fans after having been given the promise of something great only to have it ripped from their hands (_**looking at you, Neeshta**_) ; nothing else. Oh, a Honda Civic, too ;)

Ok, here is the chapter I've been picturing in my head since the very inception of this story. I sincerely hope that I've done it justice and that your mind is painting the same picture mine did :)

A few swears included in this one, along with a suggestion of torture...M-rated for a reason... On that note, enjoy!

* * *

><p>[Chapter 13]<p>

It was obvious from the squeal of joy Sam heard in the parade room before Sergeant Best arrived that Andy had confided in her best friend, Traci, about his proposal. He smirked and readied himself for the barrage of questions he was no doubt about to face from the officer. The room was nearly filled with officers, but he quickly found Andy and Traci at the back of the room in a tight, swaying hug, with huge grins plastered across their faces. Traci stepped back, releasing Andy and opened her mouth, but closed it the instant she saw Sam. She threw her mega-watt smile at him and said, "I just heard! Congratulations!"

Sam nodded and returned the smile. "Thanks, Nash. It's a big step, but one I'm ready for. One _we're _ready for," he said, winking at Andy.

"So when's the move happening, loverboy?" Traci asked, lightly punching Sam's shoulder in a playful way. 

He shrugged. "That's up to Andy. I'd move her in tomorrow if I had my way." 

"That can be arranged, Sam," Andy replied. "I just need to put my condo on the market and hire some movers." 

"Eh, I think we have plenty of free labour right here, don't you?" Sam hitched a thumb over his shoulder towards where Chris, Dov, and Gail were sitting. Traci and Andy got in a laugh before Sergeant Best strolled into the parade room to the front of the room. That was their queue to put this conversation on the backburner until after shift. When Best cleared his throat and wished everyone a good morning, all the officers found the closest seats to them and sat. Ten minutes later, Best was wishing his officers a good shift and Andy was heading out to the sallyport with her partner for the day, Gail.

Before she reached the squad, Sam caught up with her and tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned around to face him, she was slightly worried about the look he wore.

"Andy, be safe out there," he breathed quietly.

"She'll be fine, Swarek," Gail replied as she opened the driver's side door. "I'll protect you, Andy," she mocked with a smile. Andy rolled her eyes at Gail before returning her gaze to her boyfriend. 

"I'll be fine, Sam. Enjoy Oliver's company today." 

Sam let out a noise that could only be described as a quiet growl. Not one for overt displays of affection, he leaned over and briefly kissed her cheek. "I'll try." He tapped the roof of the car once before heading toward his squad car to start his patrol.

* * *

><p>Once their squad car was on the road, Gail turned to Andy and snickered. <p>

"What?" Andy asked.

"Sam. He's acting a bit crazy, don't you think? He _does _remember you're a cop, right? You carry a gun. You protect others. I'm fairly confident that you can protect yourself. Right?"

Andy nodded, overlooking the initial snicker Gail gave her—it was typical Gail. "Yeah, he knows, but I think this whole situation freaks the hell out of him. I mean, it scares me, too, but I can take care of myself. It's out of his control, and that's what scares him the most."

"So is that the reason he asked you to move in with him? So that he can keep an eye on you on your off-time?" _Always right to the point, _Andy thought. 

"I guess that's part of it. But we're both ready to get more serious about each other, so either way it works for us." Andy smiled as she looked out the window. Thinking about sharing the same home as Sam made her shiver with anticipation.

Gail shook her head in her cynical way. "You two are teeth-achingly cute. Bleh." She stuck a finger down her throat theatrically, causing Andy to smack her shoulder in retaliation.

"We are not. We just know what we want," Andy defended.

Gail smirked. "Let me guess: big church wedding, white picket fence, two point five children, a dog. Am I close?"

Andy sighed. It all sounded good, but wasn't necessarily what she pictured for her future with Sam. Wedding, sure, but neither she nor Sam were particularly religious, despite both having been raised Catholic. She pictured a small ceremony with an officiant, and a small reception with a few friends and family members. And they certainly weren't prepared to trade their city lives for suburban living in Mississauga, or a number of other cities in the surrounding area. As for children, she hadn't really thought about it, but she knew she wanted at least two. That, however, was a conversation that needed to happen with Sam, not with Gail.

"Not exactly."

Gail noticed the unease in Andy's answer and decided to drop the subject; she had teased her enough this morning about her relationship with Sam, though tomorrow, he would once again be fair game.

Their shift went by uneventfully. A few routine traffic stops and a 3 car collision later, Gail and Andy were ready to finish their shift and head home.

They had just turned down Yonge Street when their radio came to life after a few minutes of silence.

"We have a 911 call reporting another assault in progress at Yonge and Isabella in the housing complex on the corner."

Gail looked at the street sign they had just passed and nodded to Andy, who picked up the radio to respond. "1509 responding."

"Copy. Proceed with caution. Officers were called to the same location this morning and found no signs of struggle."

"Sounds fun," Gail deadpanned.

"So much for the end of our shift, huh?" Andy shrugged as she flicked the sirens on the squad to life. 

"Eh, I'm sure it's just some bum beating up some other bum. We'll be home in a half hour tops." 

* * *

><p>When Andy and Gail arrived at the location dispatch had told them, they were presented with a run-down, dilapidated five-story building—bricks missing from the outer walls, tall, unkempt shrubs and wild flowers covering clearly unused doorways, and broken windows. Garbage littered the courtyard and graffiti covered the trash bins beside the door. It was obvious this building had been abandoned and taken over by squatters. Andy and Gail shared a cautious look and pulled their guns from their holsters, preparing themselves to enter the building. Andy spent a good minute looking at the windows above, trying to catch any movement or glints of light. Her ears caught no sound from within either. It was absolutely dead quiet, but this was the right address.<p>

"This doesn't feel right," Andy said, pulling her gun from its holster. 

Gail shrugged and followed suit, pulling out her own gun. "Maybe the fight's inside, or maybe the bums moved their party to another venue."

"If officers were called here this morning and didn't find anything or anyone, why would we find anything now?"

Gail raised her eyes to the building, which wasn't more than three stories high, shook her head. "Doesn't hurt to check it out again anyway. Maybe they were wrong before."

"Or we're wrong now…" Andy muttered under her breath. 

The officers entered the building through a graffiti-covered door at the side of the building, holding their flashlights and guns together in front of them. They came to what used to be the foyer of the building and stood back to back, getting a feel for their surroundings, still hearing nothing around them. 

"I'll check the second floor," Gail said, climbing the stairs before Andy could even respond. She nodded and said, "Alright, the main floor is mine," as Gail reached the top of the second floor landing.

Andy conducted her search of the main floor, pushing back disgusting doors—when they were still on their hinges—covered in varying colours of spray paint and smears of shit with her boot, all the while having her gun drawn before her. It was clear that vagrants and homeless people had been using this building as their hotel for quite some time.

"All clear on the second floor," Gail called through the radio, startling her in the silence of the dark room. "It's gross up here." 

"Yeah, same. Nothing here either," Andy replied quietly, turning towards a closed door that was perfectly pristine; not a hint of graffiti or human fecal matter was on this particular door. It seemed completely out of place, considering all the other doors had been at least partially opened and absolutely filthy, or missing. She tried the door handle and found that it opened easily. When she shone the light into this room, she was shocked to discover that it housed a single bed, made neatly, and a small night table beside it. Directly across from the bed there was a tiny closet with a television table to the right. A small tube television sat upon this table, powered off and completely void of dust. The room couldn't be more than one hundred square feet, but every square foot of this room was completely dirt and garbage free. Someone had definitely been sleeping there on a regular basis and keeping the room in order. It just didn't fit with the rest of the rooms she'd seen thus far.

A strange unease settled over Andy as she scanned the room with the flashlight. There were no personal touches, no indications that the resident had family or friends, nothing—just a night table with an analog clock on it, the single bed, and the television. When the beam of light fell upon the far wall, she was surprised to see a clear indent and a short trail of blood running from the middle of it, down, on the otherwise pristine wall. It looked to Andy to have been caused by a fist or a head. Andy walked over to the indent and ran her hand along the ridges, furrowing her brow. Andy concluded that the indent had to have been made recently, since the blood hadn't yet taken on the rusty-brown colour it normally did when it was exposed to oxygen for longer than a few days.

Still thinking about the oddness of the room and the indent in the wall, Andy was surprised when she heard the door close behind her with a loud slam. As she turned to see what had caused the door to close, she felt a pair of hands grab her from behind and push her against the wall. Her head smacked into the drywall and she fell with a thud, unconscious and completely vulnerable to her attacker.

* * *

><p>When Andy regained consciousness, she opened her eyes and tried her hardest to take in her surroundings, but was met with almost complete darkness. The only light in the room came from the far corner where a small rectangular window, most likely a basement window, allowed some moonlight to enter. She found herself sitting in a wooden chair, arms and legs tied to the chair securely. She wasn't gagged, for which she was relieved, but she knew she was in trouble. The absence of light combined with the creaks she heard all around her, terrified her.<p>

She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had come for her. She needed no confirmation. Her gut told her all she needed to know. Andy's half-brother had finally come for her to finish what he had started all those years ago when he had killed her mother.

She heard his footsteps coming toward her before she saw him. When she finally saw his shadow pass through the moonlight coming through the window, Andy gasped.

"Aaron…?"

"So you know my name," he said, stepping closer to her prone form. Andy struggled with the restraints briefly before giving up for the moment. She hoped there would be more time for that after she spoke to her brother.

"Of course I know your name—you're my brother," she said quietly, trying to mask her fear with an almost relieved sort of tone. Of course, the mention of their relationship had the opposite effect from what she had been hoping for. Aaron scowled at her.

"We share some DNA, that's it. I am NOT your brother." His words were harsh, as was the tone he used. He stepped toward her, scowl still firmly in place and with no signs of dissipating. "You are nothing to me except the reason my life was ruined."

Andy watched him as he approached her and leaned down to stare her in the eye, far too close for comfort. She could smell the putrid scent of his unwashed hair and rancid breath. The combination of the two caused her eyes to water. Though she wanted to say something, anything, no words came to her as she was forced to stare into the eyes of her half-brother, the man who had killed nine people in cold blood simply for looking slightly like her.

"Your very existence was the reason she left my dad." His voice was rising steadily with emotion and rage, causing Andy to back away from him as much as her position in the chair allowed her to. As he continued, he tilted his head as if he were seizing her up, trying to find a spot to strike. "If it hadn't been for you, they would have stayed together, and my dad wouldn't have died in a fucking hospice like a homeless person!" The last part of Aaron's rant made Andy flinch as his saliva flew in her face.

He held no weapons in his hands, but that didn't mean that he wasn't dangerous to Andy. She was terrified of the enraged glint in his eye; she had seen that same look in the eyes of crazed criminals who'd killed people with their bare hands.

Despite her intense fear of Aaron at the moment, she couldn't help but feel sadness for Aaron and what he had perceived her role to be in her mother's abandonment of him and his father. In his rage, he overlooked the fact that it had obviously not been Andy's wish to have been born, or to have broken up his parents. His anger and sense of entitlement to retribution had blinded him, and that scared the living hell out of Andy. It was clear that he had not had the childhood that she had; however neglectful her father may have been while he was drinking, he was still there for her throughout those years and had tried as best as he could have to be a good father.

"You look exactly like her," Aaron continued, breaking Andy out of her internal analysis of Aaron and the reason for his murderous rage. He reached behind her head and pulled the elastic holding her messy ponytail roughly, Andy's eyes closing in temporary pain and shock.

"Down to the fucking hair colour," he continued, running his hands through Andy's loose hair, enjoying the knowledge that his fingers were getting caught in the tangles her fall had caused. He suddenly gripped her hair and pulled it towards his face, bringing her ear mere millimetres away from his chapped lips. The putrid smell of him invaded her nose again and she nearly gagged as his hair touched the side of her face.

"You disgust me," he whispered menacingly into her ear. "I can't wait to watch you die." He pushed Andy's face away from him hard, the force making the chair topple backwards and crash loudly to the cement floor. The back of Andy's head came into contact with the floor, flooding her vision with stars before she lost consciousness.

* * *

><p>The old building on Isabella Street soon became flooded by squad cars only minutes after Gail called in a frantic request for back-up. One of those squad cars belonged to Sam and Oliver. Sam had flown out of the car and had raced towards the building where Gail stood with her arms folded in front of her, standing beside an obviously worried Traci, while Luke took Gail's statement. Gail and Traci saw Sam and immediately saw the anxiety in his countenance.<p>

"Where is she? Where's Andy?" he asked, his eyes wild with worry as he rushed towards her. He had known Gail had been paired with Andy that day, so when he had heard that an officer was missing, he knew Gail was the one to speak to. 

Traci stepped between the two officers quickly, hoping to diffuse whatever misplaced anger Sam was about to dish out. "Swarek, take it easy."

Gail looked tired and upset, but she grew even moreso when her eyes were met with Sam's worried ones. She waved Traci off and stepped forward to face the music.

"She was clearing the main floor," Gail began. "I didn't hear a status update in a few minutes, so I called for one. When she didn't answer her radio, I ran back down to the main floor to find her. After a while, I found her radio on the ground, and what looked like drag marks leading outside the building, so I called for backup." Gail blew out a breath. "I'm sorry, Sam, I…I should have…" she said emphatically, pleading in her own way for Sam to forgive her for not watching after Andy better.

Sam shook his head and raised one hand up, trying to will himself to believe what he was about to say. "Peck, it's not your fault." He blew out a breath, trying his hardest to control those irrational thoughts that commanded him to blame Gail, even though they had followed procedure. Rationally, he knew it wasn't her fault. He just needed his heart to stop pounding and his hands to stop shaking with the anger that he felt so helpless. "But we need to find her," he continued. "Lyddle is not fucking around anymore." Sam took in the scene around him; there were dozens of police officers in his vicinity collecting evidence and keeping the scene clear. He glanced at Luke, who had until that moment, not said a word. "Anybody see anything?" 

Frowning, Luke shook his head. "No. The building's been vacant for years. Been slated for demo for the last six months. The area is pretty quiet. Even the bums didn't see anyone coming or going. The building is completely clear. We have no leads on where he took Andy." Luke ran a hand through his hair in a way that told Sam that he was equal parts frustrated and worried.

"How do you know it's Lyddle?" Gail piped in, breaking both men out of their own thoughts. "I mean, we know he's…related to her," she paused, finding it incredibly difficult to even voice the relation between the serial killer and her colleague and friend, "but how are we absolutely sure he took her?"

"There is no guessing here, Peck. He has her. I can just feel it in my gut. You guys were called here on purpose. And it wasn't the first time a 911 call was made for this location today. It was like he was waiting for Andy to be the one to check it out." Sam looked up at the officers that were now encircling them, including Frank, Dov, Chris, and Traci, who was wiping a tear away from her eye. "He can't have gone far," _dragging an unconscious Andy behind him, _he added internally. "We _have _to find her." It was uttered with a sense of desperation that hadn't been present earlier. His worst fears had been realized, and he was already imagining the most horrible of outcomes for Andy if he didn't get to her in time. It was so difficult not to. The danger was that Sam knew Lyddle had been growing impatient, and because of that, he was most likely going to carry out his plans towards Andy soon, which didn't leave Sam or his colleagues much time to find her.

He needed to get to her in time. He knew now that she was the love of his life, and all of the happiness he'd ever feel would come from being with her. If he lost her, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd never recover, never move on, never love again.

Since she'd come storming into his life, he'd changed irrevocably. He would hate to even think about the person he'd become if Andy was torn away from him as violently as Aaron's murders suggested she could be.

Frank gripped his shoulder in a gesture of solidarity and understanding. Sam nodded his appreciation to him and the rest of the group around him.

"Alright, I've called in 27 division have all available officers on this search. We have a friend, a colleague that needs our help. Let's find Andy and catch this bastard."

With that, they all dispersed, setting out to find Andy.


	15. Chapter 14: Tracks

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own joy over the news that Daniela Ruah is expecting her first child! (yes, NCIS: LA is another favourite show of mine...)

This chapter was written in about three hours, proofread by my dear friend Neeshta, and highly anticipated, I'm sure! I'm so nervous about this one. I really hope I set the scene just right.

A bit of swearing, a bit more reference to future torture, and a little bit of detective work mixed in. I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Happy New Year!

* * *

><p>[Chapter 14]<p>

When the darkness finally began to lift for Andy, she found herself on the dirty floor, still tied to the rickety chair, but now sporting a concussion, she was sure of it. She moved slightly, testing out the functionality of her hands and feet, and groaned as her movements caused her whole body pain and a wave of nausea to strike her suddenly. She was grateful for the pain, though—she'd rather feel the pain than numbness. It meant that she was still alive, still able to fight her brother off if necessary, but more importantly, that she was strong enough to stay alive until Sam found her. She knew he would. She had no doubt that he would do everything in his power to come for her.

She opened her eyes slowly, almost afraid of what she would see, and was rewarded with near darkness. She glanced at the window where she had seen the moonlight peeking in earlier, but didn't see much of it. Something looked to be in front of the window outside, blocking the moonlight, though she couldn't tell what it was. She continued her overview of the room in which she found herself. Even from her skewed position on the floor, she was almost relieved to find that the room was absolutely empty except for the chair in which she was sitting. It comforted her that this was not a scene taken out of _Dexter_, with implements of death and torture laid out on a table, ready for their owner to use them on his victim.

What she did see, however, was a dirty old wheelbarrow, rusted and dusty, leaning up against the wall. It was probably how Aaron had managed to get her down there. She hadn't yet cared to examine her appearance, but come to think of it, she could smell something rustic, musky, like how she imagined tree bark would smell. It was probably from her clothing after having been dropped into the wheelbarrow like a sack of potatoes.

For almost a half hour after she woke, she heard and saw nothing besides darkness and the sound of her own quick, shallow breathing. Aaron was clearly not near, which added to her relief. However, the relief was short-lived; when she heard the heavy footfalls of her brother approaching, her heart rate picked up and the breath nearly escaped her. She felt him lifting the chair up off the floor and returning it to its upright position roughly, shaking her whole body as the legs of the chair hit the floor. The dark figure she knew to be her half-brother crouched down to her eye level and brought his face close to hers, holding a knife with a wooden handle up for her to see it. Even in the darkness, Andy could tell it was an old knife by the way the wood splintered slightly where the blade met the handle. Andy didn't know what he was planning on doing with this knife he was brandishing in her face, and the terror of this unknown question was written all over her face. Once Aaron was sure Andy was staring at the knife with fear, he turned the knife this way and that, to give Andy a better view of it from all angles.

"This knife is very special to me," he began softly, looking at the knife almost like he would a cherished pet. "Do you know why, Andy?"

Andy shook her head, her eyes never leaving the knife before her.

"I used it to slit Carol's throat." He grinned, bringing the tip of the knife to the side of Andy's neck and grazing it lightly. He watched the tip of the blade travel down the column of her throat with fascination. All he needed to do was apply a bit of pressure and he'd draw blood, the thought of which thrilled him. Watching this woman suffering was his idea of ultimate pleasure.

He pushed the tip of the knife gently against Andy's neck, causing her to whimper in fear and pain. The smallest trickle of blood began seeping out of the small incision just below her ear. Aaron hummed while Andy hissed at the contact.

"I enjoyed watching the blood spurt out of her carotid, and then the life draining from her eyes. Of course, I made sure she was well aware of why I wanted her dead before I ended her miserable existence. I told her that I hated her for what she did to me and Dad. She had the nerve to apologize and tell me she loved me. What bullshit!" Aaron fumed, lifting the knife from Andy's neck and running his finger over the blade to clean it of Andy's blood. "She knew I was going to kill her. She didn't mean any of those things! She was trying to save her own cheating ass. She chose YOU. She loved YOU!" What had started as a gentle whispering of a speech had grown instantly into an agitated serial killer's rant, loud and furious. "She ruined my life for YOU!" He leaned closer to her, gripping the knife tightly in his left hand.

Andy knew that Aaron was coming unhinged and she needed to diffuse his anger.

"I'm sorry, Aaron," she said quietly in direct contrast to his yelling. Aaron shook his head quickly but didn't say anything. "Aaron, please let me go and we can talk about all this. We were both cheated out of having our mother when we needed her the most, of knowing each other and having a sibling. If you let me go now, we can both walk out of here and try to get to know each other. Haven't you always wondered what it would be like to have a sister? I know I always wanted a brother," she rambled, trying to buy herself some time, though she had no idea whether it would be enough time for Sam and the rest of the officers to find her. For that matter, did they even know she was missing at all? She found herself suddenly questioning everything that had comforted her only moments ago, which added to her terror, especially since it was obvious Aaron had no moral qualms about shedding his sister's blood with that treasured knife he was holding.

"Shut up! I just wanted to know why you got to have the family I didn't have. Why did you get to have a mother and a competent father and a normal life, and I got jack shit?"

Before Andy could check herself, she said, "My dad wasn't exactly Father of the Year. When my mom…left, he became an alcoholic. He was barely there. I had to be the adult and care of both of us."

Aaron seemed to ponder this for a moment before sneering in satisfaction. "So you know what you caused me. Good." He nodded and added, "Only my father wasn't a drunk—he just gave up on life after she left us. Practically forgot he had a son. I reminded him of her too much, of her betrayal and abandonment."

For a brief moment, Andy's fear was eclipsed by her pity for Aaron and what he must have gone through, but it lasted only a minute because enraged Aaron was back up in her face, studying her like an insect through a microscope.

"You are the reason my life fell apart," he said in a perfectly calm voice, twisting the knife in his hand, inching it closer and closer toward Andy. "Your very existence was why Carol took off on my dad and me without so much as a phone call or a fucking birthday card! She left us and lived a completely different life eight hours away, without the baggage of a six year old to drag her down and a mediocre man doting on her like he did."

Aaron tucked the knife away in his pocket before moving away from Andy quickly, as if he was warring with himself over a course of action. He started pacing furiously, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath. He did this in such an agitated manner that the scene scared Andy even more. If it wasn't obvious before, it was clear to Andy now that her brother was a seriously sick individual, suffering from some form of mental condition—schizophrenia perhaps, though Andy was no psychologist.

Moments after Aaron had begun pacing, he stopped and stood stock still, turning only to stare at his sister. He took two quick strides towards her again and got back up in her face. "You don't get to have the good job and the loving relationship and the close parental bond. No, no, no."

He leaned back, away from her again before saying, "I won't let you."

Without warning, he head-butted Andy, causing her to see stars. The force of the hit caused the chair to come crashing down to the floor again. Unable to raise her hands up to protect herself since they were still tied behind her back, the only thing she could do was turn her head away from her brother but it did no good against the booted foot that came flying against her midsection. She couldn't stop the screams of pain that escaped her lips as he starting kicking her stomach and chest over and over.

One kick, two kicks, three kicks, each getting progressively stronger. It was clear to her that a rib or two was cracked at this point. She could do nothing except wait for the kick that would snap a rib and puncture a lung, but as quickly as the thought of her impending death came, it was gone; Aaron's foot stilled. She looked up from her position on the floor to see Aaron crouching over her, breathing heavily from exhaustion. 

As if reading her mind, he shook his head and spoke as if only to himself. "Not yet. I have something to show her," he looked Andy in the eye before continuing. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Then the real fun will begin." 

From the way the chair had toppled over, she was unable to watch Aaron leaving the room, but rather heard his heavy footfalls getting quieter as they left the room.

Her whole body ached from the constant falling onto the concrete floor, but as if that wasn't enough, the nausea she was suffering from had returned and, though she tried as hard as she could, she couldn't quell the need to vomit. The agony her cracked ribs were causing her was exacerbated with the force of her heaving. There was nothing in her stomach to expel, which made the heaves even worse. Bile rose up, but nothing more.

She had never really thought about how her life would end, but she would have never guessed that she would be murdered by a serial killer with whom she shared DNA. At the realization that this really was the end, Andy began to cry. Though the last thing her painfully cracked ribs wanted her to do was to sob, the tears were going to come anyway. She could do nothing to stop them from falling.

She cried for her mother, who had thankfully never been subjected to this particular version of her son's wrath. In fact, from the way he spoke about it, it sounded like the whole ordeal hadn't lasted longer than an hour. She wished she had really gotten to know her mother. She would have loved to have gone shopping with her, told her all about the boys she was crushing on at school, or had her there to help her get ready for her prom. Instead, she had been violently ripped from Andy's life and in such a way that had caused Andy's feelings about her mother to be tainted with the idea that she had willingly left her and her father. Instead of mourning for her mother, she had spent more than a decade being angry at her, thinking that she didn't care about her daughter or her husband. Since learning that she had been murdered, Andy had had a strange inner battle raging within her; one part of her still hated her mother, while a more rational side reminded her that those feelings she was so used to were ill-placed and unfounded now that she knew what had really happened to her. She was sure Tommy had the same sort of conflict within.

_Dad. _

She cried for Tommy. With Andy gone, he'd have no family, no one to worry about him or to keep him motivated to stay sober. He needed to stay clean, and had been doing so well. It would be a terrible thing if he were to fall off the wagon. Others had succumbed to their addictions for far greater situations though. She worried about him every minute of every day, even in this minute when her life was practically hanging in the balance. Andy knew her father would take her murder hard, but she hoped that Sam would help him through it, maybe even going with him to his meetings to keep him on the right path.

_Oh, Sam._

She cried for Sam and for the future they'd never have together. She knew that he was the one she wanted to marry, have children with, grow old with, but her brother's plans changed all that. Despite the pain she was in, she took a moment to pray that Sam would be able to be happy in the future. She knew he'd somehow find a way to blame himself for her murder, but she hoped that he'd find the strength to move on with his life and give someone else the happiness he'd already given her in their relatively short time together as a couple.

Sam _had _to be looking for her by now. By her estimation and the fact that the sun had set an hour before she and Gail had arrived at the housing complex and it was still dark now, it had only been a few hours, four at most. Judging by the way Aaron was acting, she sensed that her time was nearly up. Sam had to find her soon before Aaron really did what he wanted. His erratic behavior told her that he was itching to finish her off. Hope was still alive, though dimly. In Andy's heart, she knew that Sam would do everything worldly possible to find her but a nagging voice told her that it would be too late when he did.

A moment later, Aaron returned, she knew she'd come face to face with the bringer of her death.

He held a larger shoebox in his hands—one that would have held a pair of work boots much like those dirty ones Aaron currently wore. The lid of the box wasn't fully on, leaving the tops of the contents of the box to peek through. Andy caught a glimpse of a shred of plastic sticking out and furrowed her brow.

Aaron crouched down to her level and rested the box on the concrete floor beside her face. From here, Andy saw what the plastic really was: a Ziploc bag. And as Aaron threw open the box, she saw a number of bags in the box. It suddenly dawned on her that this was his collection of hair. The morbid mementos he took from every victim before taking their lives.

Aaron smiled as he watched Andy's eyes widen in horror. "Yes, these are my tokens. Carol's was the first pony tail I collected." He slowly pulled out an aged Ziploc bag containing hair and labelled. He held it in his hand like a delicate vase and fixed his gaze on it. "I didn't want to get rid of the body without a little something to remember how it felt to slit her throat. It just became a habit every time after that. There were a few in Kingston that the police never even knew about—those are here," he put Carol's Ziploc back in the bag and pulled out two more Ziploc bags in one hand, presenting them like he was a Barker's Beauty before replacing them in the box. "I killed my first in Toronto a few months after I moved here looking for you. I wanted to find you and take everything from you like you took from me. And I watched you for a week, getting ready to do it, but I was walking one day down University and saw this girl. She looked so much like you, and I knew that I needed to practice on taking out my revenge before actually doing it. Wouldn't want it to be over so quickly. I did it over and over and over again." He paused. "And I got good at it. And wanted more. That's why I had to kill that Chinese man. I hadn't killed in weeks. I craved it."

Andy didn't dare speak while he reminisced. There was something in his voice that told her that he was quickly coming unhinged, that the thin veil of normalcy he'd been hiding behind was going to fall at any moment, and she certainly didn't want to be the one to pull it all the way down.

"I cut the brake lines to your father's Buick. It didn't have the effect I wanted it to, so I turned my attention to that beloved Sam of yours. Watched him for a whole day." This news made Andy gasp. "I was going to take him out, but he knew I was on to him so I backed off." He leaned in closer to Andy, making her stomach turn again with the vile smell of his breath and the crazed look in his eyes. "This will be so much better than that though. I'm going to enjoy this so much, little sister."

* * *

><p>"Sam, we've searched this whole area. The drag marks end there," Dov pointed to a spot a few feet away from them with his flashlight. "It's as if he picked her up at this point, but where the hell would he have taken her?" He shook his head in frustration. Andy was a good friend, and with her missing, nothing made sense. She and her brother couldn't have just disappeared into thin air.<p>

Sam grunted. He was sick with worry for Andy, but was doing his damnedest to keep it contained and stay focused. He couldn't fall apart, not when Andy was missing and in the worst possible danger she'd probably ever face, even if she was a cop for another thirty years. He needed to find her and hold Lyddle accountable for the murders of nine innocent Torontonians.

As frustrating as it was, he knew he couldn't lose hope that he'd find her before it was too late. His very life depended on it.

He spun around to see what Aaron would have seen when he had passed the exact spot in which they stood. To the right, Isabella Street. Straight ahead, another abandoned building slated for demolition that was attached to the building Gail and Andy had been clearing. In the middle of both buildings was a sort of courtyard, complete with a rusty old swing set. To the left, a dead end. Behind him was the door from which he and Dov had exited, following their only real lead. He beamed his flashlight down on the drag marks to re-examine them.

Something didn't make sense to Sam. "Callahan!" he called out to Luke who was standing with a few other detectives a distance away. Luke nodded towards Sam and walked over.

"Does this building have a basement?"

"If it does, we haven't found it yet. Blueprints are nowhere to be found in city records. Why?"

"These drag marks are staged. They're too precise. Lyddle is, what, 170 pounds soaking wet? How could he possibly drag someone, even someone of Andy's weight, so smoothly, without any disruptions to the pattern? He'd have to keep hitching her and repositioning so that she wouldn't fall out of his hands, right?" He motioned to the dirt beneath his feet, shining his flashlight around the vicinity of the marks.

"Hmm." Luke lowered himself toward the marks to get a better view while Dov and Sam gave him some light. After a moment, Luke nodded and stood back up, cleaning his hands on his pants.

"You're right. These weren't caused from dragging Andy."

"She's still in the building! There has to be a basement here!" Sam said, taking off back into the building in a rush. Luke and Dov called him and watched as the door to the building slammed shut behind him loudly. They both followed as best they could, but Sam was on a mission.

He ran blindly through the decrepit hallway that had originally led the officers to the discovery of the supposed drag marks. The doors he passed were all wide open, already having been searched by fellow officers. He reached another hallway and turned right. He walked past all the opened doors down this hallway as well, and found nothing.

There was one more hallway that intersected with this one, so he turned right down it. At the end of this hallway, there was another door leading outside. The rest of the apartments down the hall had been checked, but this door remained closed. He walked briskly towards it and opened it, stepping outside once again. He looked around for a sign, for something that was amiss. All the other cops were at the front of the building so he was alone with his thoughts, which helped him think about all the possibilities.

His frustration was threatening to return. He ran a hand through his jet black hair and looked down, letting out a long, sad breath.

What he saw at his feet piqued his curiosity. It looked like a fresh tire track. He beamed his flashlight on it to inspect it more closely. It was too wide to be a bike track, but too narrow to be a car tire. He decided to follow it to see where it would lead him. Step after step, the tracks led him further and further away from the building. Luckily the ground was still moist and the tire had run through mud because the track continued on concrete. By the time the track ended, he was face to face with a building a block away from the housing complex on Isabella. It had ended short of a service entrance to a small repair shop that was boarded up and put up for lease by its owners. There was an old Chevy Astro van parked a few metres away, blocking his view of a small window. Drawing his weapon, Sam felt his heart begin to pound at full speed and his adrenalin soar.

_She's in here. I just know it. _

Right before kicking the door open, Sam took a deep breath and put his gun at the ready.

"I'm coming for you, Andy. I'm coming for you."


	16. Chapter 15: Bloodshed

Disclaimer: I own nothing. At all. Except an addiction to RB and NCIS: LA fanfiction. Don't judge me.

The scenes in this chapter were what got me thinking about this story in the first place. It wouldn't let me rest until it was written. Don't worry, it isn't the end. I estimate another two or three chapters at least.

This chapter is dedicated to my work besties, Neeshta and Lori. Here's something else to read, LB! :)

Enjoy!

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><p>[Chapter 15]<p>

Aaron Lyddle, otherwise known as the Yonge Street Slasher, watched his half-sister as she lay on her side on the concrete floor, face set into a grimace of pain. After having viciously kicked her midsection and causing immeasurable pain, he had left her laying there awkwardly on the dirty ground. He squatted down in an attempt to be as close to her face as possible, to watch her reactions. After having been watching her for months now, he had learned quickly that she was quite expressive and wore her emotions on her sleeve for all to see. She was the epitome of an 'open book', and watching her fascinated him, especially now when she was so close to death that he could taste it. Aaron could literally see the hope fading from her expression, the fear and horror taking over and clouding her vision. This was exactly what he was expecting from her and she didn't disappoint him at all.

He was only moments away from ending her life, and he couldn't wait.

There was one thing he needed to do first before slicing through her veins and relishing her demise though.

He grabbed the back rest on the rickety chair and pulled it so that she no longer faced him. The side of the old chair dragged noisily against the concrete and Andy gasped in pain as he spun it. It made him ecstatic to know that his actions were constantly causing pain to her. He smirked with that knowledge.

When she was sufficiently turned, he was staring at the back of her head. He pulled out the knife he had used to kill so many people out of his pocket and took a deep breath.

"I typically reserve this to the end, but I'm making an exception with you since who knows how long your hair is going to stay in this ponytail." His tone was playful, almost as if he was trying to lighten the mood. This terrified Andy all the more. This time, she had to say something, anything to stall him.

"Aaron, you really don't need to do this," she pleaded, her tone never rising louder than a whisper due to the increasing pain in her torso from her ribs.

"I really do," Aaron replied quickly. "I've gone without killing for too long, and I've been looking forward to this for years. Since the minute I found out you existed actually. I've been wanting to kill you over and over again, in such heinous of ways. I knew I couldn't very well kill you more than once, so I had to take all that out on those women I killed before."

He stared at his knife and touched the blade with a calloused finger. "Every time, I imagined it was you I was killing. It was your throat I was slitting. It was your hair I was cutting. It was your body I was using. It may surprise you to know that I have never actually had consensual sex before. But I'm sure it isn't as fun as fucking someone as they die. No struggle, no sound except for bodily fluids, no resistance. Now _that's_ exhilarating. Knowing you're the last thing someone sees before they meet their end. That _you _were the cause of it."

Andy was utterly disgusted at that, and felt a shiver run through her.

"I think I'm going to enjoy that part most of all—watching your eyes as you die while I'm...well, you know." His voice had gotten more sinister, if that were even possible. She could only whimper at the thought that Aaron was planning on doing such a vile thing, that the last thing she would ever feel on this Earth was the pain of being violated, knowing that it was her half-brother who was doing it, and that he would be enjoying every last second of it.

He was absolutely disturbed, and there was no saving him. Of this, Andy now had absolutely no doubt. There were no redeeming qualities, no reason to feel pity towards him, despite his miserable childhood and life. No amount of rehabilitation could ever bring a person back from that level of depravity.

At that moment, she felt Aaron's hands grip the back of her head and pull on her hair tautly, preparing to cut it off as he had done with all his other victims before her. She wanted to keep him talking to stop him from chopping off her hair and adding it to his collection, but the sharp pain in her ribs was making it difficult for her to even breathe, let alone beg for her life. Luckily for her, Aaron continued unrequested.

"You should feel honoured, Andy. All this was because of you. All those women's deaths are because of you. I only started killing here in this city because you live here, and Carol before you. She was my first and you'll be my last. At least in Toronto. I'm heading North after I finish with you. No one, not even your Swarek will find me."

Aaron was silent for a moment before Andy heard the distinct sound of a plastic bag opening.

You'll be forever immortalized in my collection now," Aaron said darkly. Andy made a small squeak as he pulled at her hair uncomfortably. She obviously couldn't see what he was doing, but she could surely feel it; she felt the strokes of the blade cutting through and the hairs disconnecting one by one from her head. As he cut, Andy let the tears fall down and temporarily mark the filthy concrete floor. It wasn't because of the loss of her hair—she wasn't a vain person by any stretch of the imagination—but because of what it meant to lose her ponytail to Aaron Lyddle; this really was the end.

After a minute, Andy's head felt lighter and she could feel the draft of the cold basement all the more on her scalp. She couldn't help the sob that escaped as the tears continued to flow.

Proud of himself, Aaron reached over to the new Ziploc bag, depositing Andy's ponytail in it and sealing it tightly before scrutinizing it through the plastic.

"Much better." He scooted around so that Andy had a good view of him. Showing her the bag, he smiled again. "See? It fits perfectly in here."

Andy knew that now was the time to say something before it was too late, pain or no pain.

"Please," she started with a sob, trying to look Aaron in the eye despite the tears in her eyes and the odd angle at which she lay on the ground. "I'm sorry that Carol left you. I'm sorry that she took off when she found out she was pregnant with me." Her voice was gaining volume—probably a final wave of strength before her end came, she surmised. "And I'm sorry your father wasn't there for you after she left. But please, Aaron. You're my brother. Don't do this." She saw that her words were bouncing off him like water on a windshield. His eyes were dead, and any appeal to his emotions was seemingly having no effect on him whatsoever. At that moment, Andy decided to take a different approach. "Killing a cop will get you life in prison, not to mention the other charges you're facing. Plus, Sam won't rest until you are caught. Do you really want to do that to yourself—be on the run for the rest of your life?"

He was still holding the knife in his hand—the one he'd used to cut her hair, the same one he'd used to kill countless others with, and her mother. He raised it above her head, tip down, preparing to strike.

"I already told you—he won't find me," Aaron replied confidently. "I kept myself hidden for almost a decade up until the last few months. I can definitely do it again."

Andy felt the last bit of hope drain out of her as the blade of the knife dangled above her.

_This is it_, she thought. _I'm going to die. _

Her last ditch effort was to try to alert anyone in the area, wherever that may be, that she was in danger, so she did what anyone would do in this situation—she let out a terrified scream.

* * *

><p>Sam kicked down the door and stepped through slowly, gun drawn and ready for anything. The hallway he found was dark so he had his flashlight on, shining ahead of him. After a minute, he found that the hallway stopped at a warehouse of sorts that lead to a storefront that was completely covered with opaque <em>For Lease <em>signage, preventing any moonlight to penetrate them. The concrete floor had a year's worth of dust on it, except for a few fresh footprints. Sam crouched down to get a better look at these. After shining his flashlight on them, he saw that they had been made by boots, but they had distinct drag marks through them, as if the wearer was carrying something heavy. Sam's heartbeat picked up speed again as he traced the path these prints had created for him. Turning left, he followed the prints to a door with an old 'Storage Room' sign that hung askew, also covered with an inch of dust. Sam checked the doorknob and saw that it was clear of any signs of age or dust. He pulled the door open and saw a set of stairs. Taking the stairs slowly, a chill shot down his spine when he heard the unmistakable sound of the love of his life screaming.

"Andy!" Sam cried, running towards the scream. He found Andy tied to a fallen chair and Aaron Lyddle crouching over her, holding a knife.

"Drop the knife, Lyddle! It's over!" Sam yelled, aiming his gun at Aaron. The criminal didn't look nervous at all. In fact, he smiled sinisterly at Sam, and then looked back at his soon-to-be victim.

"Yes, it is. Goodbye, Andy. Give my regards to Carol when you see her in Hell."

Aaron dropped to his knees and plunged the knife into Andy's side before the sound of a loud gunshot rang out through the basement, stopping Aaron Lyddle from pushing the knife further into her and causing more damage. The bullet flew through his shoulder and he fell back with a scream, the knife still in his hand. His head knocked against the concrete, rendering him unconscious.

Andy cried out in pain as the knife sliced a hole through her abdomen, and then slipped out again. She knew that she needed to quell the bleeding but her hands were still tied to the chair. She was drained from everything that she'd been through over the last few hours. If she had the strength of body and mind, she may have been able to pull her hands free of the restraints, but as it stood, she couldn't even struggle effectively—her whole body was in agony, now more than ever.

After Sam had shot Aaron in the shoulder, immobilizing him, he ran to Andy's side, kicking the knife away in the process. Silently and quickly, he analyzed the situation before him and worked at a fast pace to untie Andy from the chair. When her hands and legs came loose, Andy groaned quietly in pain as she fell to the ground with no real control over her body.

Sam looked her over and his heart broke at the sight; her uniform was dirty and torn, her beautiful chestnut hair had been shorn for Aaron's disturbing collection, and her sickly pale complexion frightened him beyond words. Add to all of that the sickening pool of blood that was spreading on her uniform shirt and staining the ground beneath her quickly.

"My God," Sam said, inspecting her injuries briefly before trying to gather her in his arms.

Andy shook her head, saying, "My ribs. I think they're broken, " Andy wheezed, putting a hand over her stab wound. Sam frowned and pulled his radio. Despite his training, state Andy was in affected him in the worst way. He couldn't distance himself from the situation; this was his girlfriend, the woman he was hoping to spend his life with. She had been through an unspeakable ordeal. He couldn't even bring himself to sound calm or indifferent as he would with any other victim he came across. In his most frantic voice, he said, "This is Swarek. I found Lyddle and Officer McNally. Officer down. Repeat, officer down! I need a bus to the building behind the housing complex. It's the one for lease on Huntley."

"10-4, Officer. A bus has been called. Is the suspect detained?" dispatch replied.

"He's been shot. He's down."

"Copy that. Back up is on the way, Officer Swarek."

"Sam, we're nearly there," Frank responded next, sounding worried.

"Yeah, we're right outside, brother," Oliver responded, sounding equally worried and out of breath, like he was running.

"We're in the warehouse basement, guys. Hurry."

"How's our girl?" Oliver asked with a desperate sound of concern to his voice. Sam's eyes never left Andy's form as he answered, sighing worriedly.

"Just get here, Ollie."

"We're entering the building now."

Sam pulled his uniform shirt off, leaving him with only his white undershirt on, and crumpled it into a ball. He pressed it onto Andy's wound which caused her to yelp feebly in pain.

"Sorry, baby."

Andy nodded her understanding of his actions. With his free hand, Sam reached under Andy and lifted her head enough to rest it on his leg. He swept some of her oddly-cut hair out of her face and cleaned her forehead of sweat. The adrenaline of the past few minutes was beginning to wear off, and Andy was starting to feel her eyelids droop. Having been watching her for the past few minutes, Sam noticed her eyes starting to close and shook Andy gently.

"Andy, you need to stay awake, OK? The ambulance is on its way. You hear me?"

Andy knew the logic behind what he was saying, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay awake and conscious. She wanted to succumb to the darkness that was threatening to take over. The pain was overwhelming. Her body was starting to shut itself down now, but not before causing her a lot more pain first. Sam watched as her expression changed and she grimaced. It just about destroyed him to see her this hurt and being unable to help her.

Sam was about to ask what else Lyddle had done to her when their attention was turned towards a wail of pain behind them from Aaron, who was just regaining consciousness.

"Don't even think about moving, Lyddle," Sam warned forcefully, picking up his gun and aiming it at Aaron.

"That stab wound doesn't look too promising, sis," Aaron mocked, sitting up slowly and hissing in pain at his own wound. "Looks like you're bleeding out. Not exactly how I wanted you to meet your end, but it'll work. I got you right where I needed to. Painful, isn't it?"

"Shut up!" Sam commanded, his gun now inching towards being aimed for a kill shot.

"You don't deserve a happy life, Andy," Aaron continued, ignoring Sam's orders to remain silent. He struggled momentarily before getting back up to his feet and reaching behind him with his good hand. The other was immobile after having been shot in the shoulder. Sam and Andy gasped as they saw what Aaron had reached for behind him—Andy's service weapon. They had completely forgotten that he had removed it from her person. He didn't look comfortable holding the weapon—in fact, his arm wobbled and trembled as he tried to keep it steady. He shakily aimed it at Andy and stepped closer.

"Lyddle, stay where you are and drop the gun or I will shoot you," Sam shouted, gently lowering Andy's head onto the floor to stand, firearm still directed at Aaron.

"She's not leaving here alive. She needs to pay for ruining my life!" Aaron yelled, infuriated, gunshot wound and the threat of a new one, forgotten.

Sam steadied his gun, watching Aaron's crazed eyes for a sign of his plan. Was he really going to try to outshoot a veteran police officer? All little boys loved playing cops and robbers and pretending to shoot a fake gun, but the real thing was completely different. It was heavier, more substantial than any toy gun. It was obvious to Sam that this was the first time Aaron had held a real gun, so he knew that he wasn't in immediate danger. What he was worried about was if Aaron were to somehow shoot Andy where she lay prone on the ground. Sam stepped in front of Andy to prevent just that from happening and said, "I'm warning you, Lyddle! Stay where you are!"

The sound of sirens broke the two men out of their momentary silent stand-off.

"You are under arrest for the kidnapping and forcible confinement of Officer Andy McNally. Unless you want another bullet hole in you, you'll drop your weapon and put your hands behind your head. I'm not warning you again!" Sam stepped toward Aaron, reaching to his utility belt to pull out his handcuffs, gun still aimed at the murderer before him.

Aaron didn't say another word, but instead, aimed at the floor toward Andy and tensed his hand to pull the trigger.

Sam was about to shoot Aaron when the loud bang of two gunshots sounded and Andy's service weapon skittered across the floor. Aaron's mouth gaped widely in shock as he, too, fell to the floor. When he landed, Sam saw that Aaron had been shot twice in the back. In his wake, Sam saw Luke with his own firearm raised, followed by Oliver, Chris, and Dov. Luke had been the one to fire on Aaron.

Sam walked over to Aaron, kicked the gun further away from him and felt for a pulse.

None.

It was finally over.

Sam let out a loud sigh of relief before hurrying back to where Andy was lying, eyes closed and extremely pale. The pool of crimson had spread rapidly around her on the concrete. Sam sat beside her on the floor and pulled her back into his lap as gently as possible. The other officers gathered around them, out of their minds with worry at the condition of their friend and colleague.

"Andy? Andy! Come on! Stay with us, baby, please. The paramedics are on their way in," Sam called to her desperately, cupping her face and urging her to open her eyes with gentle shakes to her form. She made a groan when Sam's shaking became a bit more forceful, but her eyes remained stubbornly closed.

"Over here!" Luke shouted at the paramedics that rushed down the stairs into the basement where they congregated.

From then on, there was a lot of frantic yelling and orders being called out. Detectives and random officers started to fill the basement to view the body of Aaron Lyddle, take photos, collect evidence, and secure the scene. None of this mattered, though. Sam's focus was primarily on the paramedics as they worked on Andy. He watched helplessly as they staunched the bleeding enough to transport her on a stretcher to the ambulance. He wanted to yell at them to be careful with her, since she probably had a cracked rib or two, but he figured they knew by the shallowness of her breaths.

The paramedics rushed Andy out of the dank basement on the stretcher, awkwardly carrying it up the stairs. Instead of immediately following them, Sam took a moment to look down at the morbid pool of crimson left behind after Andy was taken away; her essence, her life force, and a lot of it, at his feet. A shudder ran through him at the thought that there was far too much of it laying before him, for Andy to survive.

_No_, he thought. _She is stronger than that. This basement will NOT be the last place on Earth we're together. _

Silently, Sam followed them to the ambulance and made damn sure that he was allowed to ride with her to the hospital. He'd worry about Lyddle's body and the statement he was sure to have to give, when Andy was out of the woods and healing.

* * *

><p>The ride to Toronto General seemed to drag on and on. He was anxious to have her in the care of professionals who would ensure she'd be ok, so even five minutes felt like a year to him. The longer she was bleeding uncontrollably, the less likely she'd survive this ordeal. He spent this time in the ambulance watching her chest rise and fall with each breath she took. It comforted him to know that she was still breathing on her own, albeit painfully.<p>

When the ambulance finally arrived at Toronto General's emergency room, Sam rushed behind the stretcher as they carted Andy in through the large double doors of the hospital. As they went down the hall, the EMTs barked out a list of her apparent injuries, and it took only a moment before various doctors and nurses followed.

Once the group finally reached a set of closed doors labelled 'OR', a nurse pulled at Sam's arm.

"Officer, we need you to stay out here. She's in good hands," the nurse urged kindly. She patted his shoulder a few times before hurrying through the doors that Andy, the EMTs, and the doctors had just gone through.

Sam could do nothing but stand in their wake, staring with unfocused eyes at the doors as they swung open and closed and back again, giving him brief glimpses at the stretcher on which his girlfriend lay fighting for her life. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were stained a rusty red-brown colour from Andy's blood. A large bloodstain marred his white undershirt, too. He probably looked ridiculous to passersby, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to stop tears from forming and falling, but he only had to look at his blood-drenched hands to know that it was a losing battle.

Sam Swarek was never one to cry. It just wasn't in his DNA to let himself feel that vulnerable or emotional.

He didn't cry when his father was hauled off to jail. He didn't cry when his sister was attacked or when his mother died, but tonight, as he watched the stretcher haul Andy away from him, he slid down the closest wall, buried his face in the crook of his arm, and let the tears fall.


	17. Chapter 16: The Blame Game

Disclaimer: I own nothing. At all. Except maybe an unhealthy new obsession with Veronica Mars...yes, I'm a Marshmallow...Shh...just let it happen.

Here's my next offering. There are maybe three more chapters to go, unless some more plot bunnies invade my head. It was a bit emotional for me to write this chapter, but I think I did Sam justice here. Let me know what you think.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>[Chapter 16]<p>

The waiting room was filled with no less than ten uniformed officers. If they had hoped to keep Andy's kidnapping and subsequent battle for her life a secret and out of the news, they were doing a poor job of avoiding attention. The whole hospital was abuzz with the gossip that the Yonge Street Slasher had kidnapped a police officer and she was in life-threatening condition.

Traci and Gail sat together quietly, shoulder to shoulder, awaiting any news, while Dov, Chris, and Luke huddled together a distance away, quietly talking. Though Luke had never really had conversations with the 'rookies', tonight their 'us vs. you' mentality was forgotten; Luke finally felt like a brother in arms among them. He had been encouraged to stay with them while they waited to hear from the doctors on Andy's condition, and was comforted enough to take them up on their offer.

Minutes after Andy was rushed to the operating room, Jerry went searching for Sam, knowing the state of mind he must have been in. He didn't have to look far or use his badge to gain access to any restricted areas of the hospital; he found Sam sitting against the wall closest to the swinging doors of the OR, hands soaked with blood, head resting on his forearms. Jerry slid down next to Sam and put an arm around him. Sam took a few moments to realize that Jerry was beside him, offering him comfort. When he finally looked up at his best friend, his eyes were red from crying. Jerry had never seen his best friend so emotional. The sight before him unnerved Jerry. After a minute of silent sitting, he exhaled before saying, "she's a fighter, Sam."

Sam leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. "I know she is. That doesn't stop me from being completely fucking terrified that that was the last time I'll see her alive," Sam replied quietly, looking back down and wiping the moisture from his eyes with his arm in an attempt to retain some shred of his macho façade. Jerry knew Sam better than most, and understood wholeheartedly what Sam was trying to do, but there was no reason for Sam to hide behind bravado here with him, especially when Andy's life was in danger.

"It's ok to cry, Sam. Andy was stabbed, and who knows what else. You care for her—"

"I love her, Jer. There's no one else for me. She's it. If she…if she doesn't make it…" Sam trailed off, clenching his eyes tightly as if to ward away the dark vision that was forming in his head, one of a world without Andy. It would be a dark place indeed.

Jerry shook his head resolutely. "She'll pull through, Sam. She has to. Too many people depend on her."

"I should have shot that sick bastard in the fucking head when I saw him standing over her with that knife," Sam continued to lament. "Instead, I shot him in the shoulder. I should have taken him out. It's my fault she's in there," Sam motioned towards the swinging doors to his left with his head, "on that operating table."

"Sam, you followed protocol," Jerry replied softly. "He should have lived to rot in jail for all the lives he destroyed, including Andy's. He needed to pay for those crimes, and you didn't expect him to stab Andy the way he did."

Sam shook his head angrily. "I should have put a bullet in his fucking head. It didn't look good when they wheeled her in there. If she dies…" Sam took a shaky breath and closed his eyes again. Jerry gripped Sam's shoulder, determined to not allow any more guilty thoughts to spew from Sam's distraught form.

"She won't. She's a McNally. They're made of tougher stuff than that."

Jerry and Sam were quiet for a few minutes. Jerry was trying to gauge Sam's state of mind, while Sam was trying to clear that mind of everything he perceived himself to have done wrong in the last twenty four hours. It was considerably difficult.

More moments of silence passed before Sam looked down at his hands again, remembering how discoloured they were, and trying to forget _why _they were so, but failing.

"Guess I should probably wash up."

Jerry's eyes dropped to Sam's hands and he nodded. "I asked Oliver to grab your duffle bag from the cruiser." Sam was grateful for the change of clothes that he knew was in that bag and returned the nod before joining Jerry on his feet. "I'm sure he and everyone else are in the waiting room by now. Let's go."

With a deep inhale, Sam nodded and silently followed Jerry towards the waiting room, where he was greeted by his colleagues' worried faces. Traci and Gail stood up and watched Sam, expecting that he had some news. Dov, Chris, and Luke stopped talking and turned immediately, taking in Sam's disheveled, bloody appearance.

Traci stepped towards Sam, about to ask how Andy was, but was stopped by Sam's raised palm. "I know as much as you do. Sorry," he added, defeated. Traci nodded solemnly and hugged Sam tightly.

"She's going to be ok, Sam," she said quietly as she released Sam from her embrace. Not trusting his voice enough to agree aloud (and contradict the nagging feeling he had in his gut), he nodded once and looked to Luke who had stepped forward.

Sam cleared his throat. "Luke, uh, thank you for, you know…" Sam rubbed the back of his neck with his hand awkwardly. He'd never had to thank Luke for anything before, but he knew that since Luke had been the one to pull the trigger on Lyddle, he had him to thank for doing what he couldn't. "Thank you for saving Andy."

Sam looked down at his bloody hand and gave a sad smile. "I _would_ shake your hand but…"

Luke nodded, waving off the gesture. "I know. You're welcome, Sam."

Oliver stepped forward then and handed Sam the duffle bag he held after his and Luke's awkward exchange. "Go and get yourself cleaned up, brother. I'm sure Andy wouldn't want to see you like this when she wakes up."

"No, I don't think she would," Sam agreed. "Thanks, Ollie."

Without another word, Sam turned back towards the men's washroom and headed there to clean up.

* * *

><p>Once in front of the sink, he dropped his duffle bag on the floor and took a moment to scrutinize his own appearance in the mirror. He didn't recognize the man that stared back at him. Dark circles under the eyes, hair out of place, a pale tone to his normally tanned skin—this was not the Sam he knew. He was worried and angry at himself and thoroughly exhausted. Ever since he had received the call that Andy was missing nearly twelve hours earlier, he hadn't stopped to pause, eat or drink anything, or even breathe right. He had been single-minded about getting Andy back in one piece, and nothing else, not even his bodily needs, mattered to him until she was safe. Now that she was out of Lyddle's grasp, he should have been feeling relieved. But Andy's current condition just made his worry triple.<p>

He had seen people bleed out from stab wounds like the one Aaron Lyddle had delivered to her. A number of vital organs could have been affected by the blade. While he hadn't actually taken the time to see where exactly on her side the blood had been gushing from, Sam knew it was very bad. Andy had been unresponsive and extremely pale when they brought her into the hospital. It was Sam's worst nightmare come to life.

After using an obscene amount of soap from the dispenser under the large mirror to make sure that the blood was gone, Sam slowly pulled off the undershirt he wore that had been stained with Andy's blood. He balled up the shirt and put it atop the counter. He bent and grabbed his duffle. Rummaging through it briefly, he found a spare black t-shirt and pair of dark jeans. He put them on quickly and stuffed his uniform pants in the bag.

Sam splashed some cold water on his tired face and mentally prepared himself for the undetermined amount of time he'd have to endure waiting to hear news about Andy.

Before exiting the bathroom, he balled up his undershirt soaked in Andy's blood and tossed it into the garbage without a second glance.

* * *

><p>The group was wise to leave Sam alone when he returned to the waiting room.<p>

As Sam took a seat at the farthest corner of the room, away from the other officers, he took note of just how old the place was. The dented old side table to Sam's left was overflowing with ripped up magazines; the wallpaper was loose or peeling here and there; the dim, yellowed light bulbs in the room. No, this hospital had definitely not been Sam's first choice, but was the closest to the crime scene. Sam just prayed that the state of the waiting room did not reflect the quality of care Andy would receive from the hospital's staff.

For nearly an hour after Sam had returned from cleaning up, each and every person in that waiting room was silent. No one wanted to act under the pretense that everything was alright, that they were all there to just catch up. There was a somber feeling in the room that was palpable. No one dared to continue the conversations they had begun before Sam had returned. Some officers had their eyes closed, trying to nap or just escape in their minds. Those who didn't have their eyes closed were staring blankly at the bulky old television hanging up in the corner of the room—the one with the inch of dust on its top—that was tuned to CP24, the local twenty-four hour news station. The channel was muted, but they didn't need the sound to be on to understand that the breaking news story—even at 4:53am—was the death of the Yonge Street Slasher and the kidnapping of a police officer, whose name was thankfully still unknown by the media.

The screen flashed from photos of Aaron Lyddle, to various photos of his victims, and back to the reporter. Sam only watched for a few minutes before closing his eyes and praying for sleep to give him a short reprieve from the reality of the situation.

When his mind finally did allow him to nap, his sleep was anything but peaceful. His minds' eye showed him the worst case scenario of the situation; he saw Andy dying again and again on the operating table, and holding her limp hand as a faceless nurse covered her with a thin sheet. When that vision had been sufficiently burned into his memory, he was treated to a scene taken straight out of the music video for Guns N Roses' _November Rain_, except that he was Axl Rose walking down the aisle towards the white casket, and Andy's beautiful but pale face was the one he saw in it instead of Stephanie Seymour's. The final vision he saw was more of a montage of a rain-soaked group of people standing around him holding black umbrellas, watching as a casket was lowered into the ground before them. Though these images disturbed him, his body and mind were weary and needed to rest; he remained sleeping for about three hours despite the nightmares.

It was Traci who gathered up the courage to wake Sam up when Tommy McNally finally arrived at the hospital.

"Tommy's here," Traci said quietly as she shook Sam's shoulder to rouse him. Once he opened his eyes and understood what she was saying, he nodded and rose from his seat, stretching as he went. A few steps away, he found Tommy standing by Oliver and Jerry.

"Tommy," Sam said with a bit of uncertainty, getting his attention. Tommy's head snapped to Sam and he nodded once.

"Sam. I heard it from Barber while you snoozed over there. Now I want to hear your side of the story. How did this happen? How did Aaron Lyddle get to my daughter?"

Sam had been afraid of this line of questioning, but knew he had to man up and face the man whom he hoped to one day call his father-in-law. Taking a deep breath, he motioned towards a row of empty seats and sat down, Tommy close behind.

"She was taken around eleven last night. We searched everywhere and couldn't find her until I followed some tracks."

"Yeah, it was from a wheelbarrow, it turns out," Tommy supplied. "Jerry told me."

"I should have found her sooner." Sam couldn't even bear to look at Tommy as he said the words. His guilt was so strong that Tommy felt it radiating off of Sam. Tommy sighed and did something that Sam had never experienced before—he put his hand on Sam's shoulder in a gesture of paternal compassion.

"Son, you found her."

"Too late."

"No," Tommy argued.

"Yes. If it wasn't for me, she wouldn't be in there fighting for her life."

"You gave her something to fight for, Sam." Tommy exhaled and looked down, releasing Sam's shoulder and looking at his hands in his lap. "I'm sure she's told you how quickly she had to grow up because of me and my addiction." The shame in Tommy's voice was evident. Sam knew better than to acknowledge it though. "Well, since her mother left us for all intents and purposes, she threw up these steel walls. She never let anyone near those walls. Since she's been with you, I can see bits and pieces of my little girl again, the little girl that loved her mother and was so quick to love others. Those walls are coming down. It's because of your faith in her and, correct me if I'm wrong here, but your love for her, that they're coming down."

Sam nodded. "You're not wrong. I love your daughter more than anything. She does the same for me, Tommy. She makes me a better man. I…I can't imagine my life without her in it."

Tommy gave him a genuine, knowing smile and chuckled in spite of himself and his surroundings. "So, I assume that you'll be asking me a question someday, huh?"

Sam nodded and smirked. "Sooner than you think, Tommy."

"Well, let's allow her to get better first, then you and me, we'll talk. And don't beat yourself up, Sam. She's got a fighting chance _because_ of you, not in spite of you. You saved her life." Tommy seemed to be getting emotional at that. Sam patted his shoulder and cleared his throat, deciding against arguing the point again.

The two men in Andy's life sat like that for the next two hours, in companionable silence, every so often glancing up at the television or flipping through their cells. Nothing effectively distracted them.

Finally, the swinging door to the waiting room opened to reveal an OR doctor still wearing teal scrubs and a white mask over his mouth. Everyone's attention went straight to this doctor.

Sam jumped up instantly and joined them, stretching as he approached the group.

The doctor removed his mask and said, "Family of Andy McNally?" to the group of officers.

Frank nodded and spoke up. "Yes, we are all here for her. Staff Sergeant Frank Best from 15 Division." He extended his hand to the doctor, who took it with a professional smile.

"How is she?" Traci asked quickly, putting to words what everyone else was thinking.

"Ms. McNally's stable now. The knife ruptured her spleen, which is what caused the majority of the blood loss. We were forced to perform a splenectomy. Everything else related to the stab wound was not life-threatening. She was very lucky that the stab was not deeper or lower, or we probably wouldn't be having this conversation right now." The doctor sighed and gave a half-hearted smile to the crowd of officers around him, listening with all their might. "Aside from the noticeable bruises on her face and body, she sustained two cracked ribs, some lacerations on her cheeks and neck, and a pretty nasty concussion. We'll be watching her over the next seventy-two hours to make sure there are no complications from the splenectomy. Barring that, Ms. McNally is expected to make a full recovery."

The doctor's words sounded like music to Sam's ears. The final words, _full recovery_, repeated in his mind like a melody. When those magical words finally sunk in, Sam let out a long breath in relief and felt his whole body slump from its former rigid stance.

"When can I see her?" Sam asked.

The doctor nodded, understanding Sam's urgency, and said, "She's been taken to her room. Once they are done setting up her drip, you can go on in. Room 3223." The doctor directed his next words to the rest of the group. "She won't be conscious for at least the next twelve hours following the surgery, so we ask that if you must visit with her, you keep your time short. Visiting hours only start—" the doctor glanced down at his wrist watch before continuing, "in an hour, but you are all authorized to see her before then." A chorus of grateful noises sounded as the doctor left the group of police officers to attend to other patients.

Jerry clasped Sam's shoulder and gave him a hopeful smile. "See? What did I tell you? McNallys are tough."

Sam returned the smile and for the first time in twelve hours, he felt like the world had stopped spinning enough for him to gain his footing and steady himself. Now all he needed was to see for himself that she was okay and he'd start to feel like the world made sense again.

Sam looked at Tommy as if asking permission to see Andy first. Tommy nodded, saying, "Go on ahead. You've earned the right to see her first, Sam."

* * *

><p>As fast as his legs could carry him, he reached room 3223 and didn't hesitate to enter. A nurse was finishing up with Andy when he arrived. She gave him a grunt and a nod before leaving him alone with Andy's unconscious form.<p>

As he approached the bed where she lay, the thing that screamed out to him the most was the absence of Andy's long brown hair. Andy was a natural beauty, with high cheekbones, dark features, and a gorgeous smile, so seeing her without her long hair didn't diminish her appeal. She just looked changed, altered, almost like the woman lying in the bed before him was an Andy from a different, parallel universe. An odd episode of Fringe came to his mind and made him scoff. If only alternate universes existed.

Her inherent beauty didn't stop him from praying to God that her hair regrew quickly. He worried that her short hair would be a constant reminder of her ordeal—as if she would need any further reminders.

He lifted the closest chair and brought it beside the bed. Taking a seat, he looked closely at her face. There were deep purple bruises setting in on her cheek and forehead. He glanced down at her hand and took it into his, stroking the top of her hand gently.

Her appearance was such a departure from the last time he had seen her at the station before shift; her face too pale for comfort, her form too still to be natural. The very sight of her caused his heart to ache. Her ribs must have been causing her such agony, considering the position he found her in when he had arrived. She didn't deserve that. She only deserved the best, and as long as he lived, he wanted to be the one to give it to her.

Her hand in his felt weightless, so he gripped it tightly and leaned toward her.

"I know you probably can't hear me, Andy," he began. "Never thought I'd actually be one of those guys who talked to his unconscious girlfriend who lay comatose in a hospital bed like on TV, but here I am, praying to God that you can hear me. Guess I understand why they do it. I need you to know that I can't live without you. You need to get better, Andy. You're…you're the most important person in my boring life, and I need you to wake up and talk my ear off. Most of all, I need you to know how sorry I am for not shooting that bastard when I had the chance, for taking my sweet ass time finding you, and for not better protecting you from Lyddle. I'll spend the rest of my days making up for it all." Sam sighed. Saying the reasons for his guilt aloud was threatened to make him emotional. He shook his head and leaned the rest of the way, resting his forehead on Andy's hand. "I love you, Andy. So much. "

Even though he knew she couldn't hear his apologies or professions of love, saying what he felt had been just what he needed to calm down. Being close to her was enough to relax Sam, even in her current condition.

Sam sat back up in his chair, never releasing Andy's hand, and got comfortable. He settled deeper into his chair and prepared to wait until she woke up, even if others wanted to come in and see her. He wasn't going anywhere until he saw those gorgeous brown eyes popping open to greet him.

The doctor had told him and the others that he expected her to sleep for twelve hours.

It was going to be a long day, but one that Sam welcomed. It meant that Andy was safe. It meant that he had a chance to make up for everything he'd done wrong over the last few months.

He closed his eyes and began daydreaming about the woman whose hand he held in his.


End file.
